LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. . 



Cliap. Copyright No, 

Shelf __,Vl(-4 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MORAL CULTURE 
AS A SCIENCE 



THEODA WILKINS, M.D. 

AND 

BERTHA S. WILKINS 




SAN FRANCISCO 
THE WHITAKER AND RAY COMPANY 
(incorporated) 

1900 



87427 

|!L)bi»a.r"y of Cona«*eBO 

j ^ >A-o Copies Receiveo 
DEC 12 1900 

CopyngW entry 

DEC 1900 
SECOND COPY 

Ofltivorad to 

ORD£R DtVIStON 
QEC 26 i9QQ 



Copyright, 1900, 

BY 

Bertha S. Wilkins. 



PREFACE. 



The great necessity for a definite plan of presenting 
the subject of Ethics to children in the pubhc schools 
has led to the preparation of this treatise. The fact 
that a work was needed which should' be practical, and 
yet wide in its range, has been constantly kept in mind. 

For the convenience of readers, the book has been 
divided into three parts, with the addition of an ap- 
pendix. 

In the first part, those fundamental psychological 
facts which have a bearing especially upon ethical 
development have been set forth, as it seemed neces- 
sary that they be kept in mind by the reader. In the 
second part, the nature of the various virtues, and 
practical suggestions for teaching them, are considered, 
while the ethical aspect of school discipline and of our 
common-school branches of study are discussed in the 
third part. 

The MS. of this work has been carefully reviewed 
by educational experts, and the conclusions reached 
have been pronounced correct, without exception. As 
to the manner of presenting them there has been a 
difference of opinion. 

The popular method of illustrating ethical truths 
by stories, for children as well as for adults, is con- 
sidered by far the most successful one, and doubt was 
expressed as to the possibility of teaching ethics in 
any other way. 

3 



4 



Preface, 



So much is being done in this field by wholesome 
publications like the Youth^s Companion and many 
series of books, that work of this kind seemed super- 
fluous, although a few illustrative stories for children 
are appended to this work. 

Ethical culture obtained in this way is necessarily 
disconnected and fragmentary. Educators, be they 
parents, teachers, or settlement workers, need a clear, 
connected, and scientific grasp of the subject as a whole; 
this we have tried to give, employing the analytical 
treatment of parts while preserving the unity of the 
whole. 

We hope that the approval of our readers may 
justify our method of presentation. 

B. S. W. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introduction 7 

PART FIRST. 

Chap. I. What is Morality? . 13 

II. The Appetites of the Body 17 

III. The Desires of the Mind 22 

IV. Attributes and Emotions 29 

V. Mental and Moral Training 35 

VI. Morality in School 40 

VII. Love and Fear 47 

VIII. Cant and Moralizing 59 

PART SECOND. 

Chap. I. The Personal Virtues 61 

II. How to Teach the Personal Virtues ... 68 

III. The Ideal Virtues 87 

IV. The Social Virtues 95 

PART THIRD. 

Chap. I. Methods of Reaching the Child 108 

II . School Government in its Relation to Moral 

Training 124 

III. The Ethical in our Common School Studies . 136 

IV. Reflections 139 

APPENDIX. 

Martin's Thinking 149 

Cobwebs 156 

The Miner's Son 168 

5 



6 



Contents. 



PAGE 



^'DocTOE Chakles" 176 

Consideration 180 

Kindness 183 

Frank's Lesson 188 

How a Glacier Answered a Question 193 

Miscellaneous Proverbs .... 194 

Quotations 196 



INTRODUCTION. 



Morality has, up to the present time, been taught 
in public schools only incidentally as misdemeanors 
were committed and occasion arose for their correc- 
tion. It has never been made a subject of regular 
systematic instruction. For that reason it has made 
comparatively little impression upon the minds of 
children. Those who were dependent for their in- 
struction in this direction upon the public schools 
have therefore received but vague and uncertain ideas 
regarding their moral nature and duties. 

A systematic education includes, besides mental 
and physical training, also moral culture. Such an 
education the state is in duty bound to give to its 
future citizens. 

To invest this subject of morality with its rightful 
dignity and importance in the eyes of school chil- 
dren, certain regular hours should be set aside for the 
study of its guiding principles. Here, as elsewhere, 
concentration of thought is indispensable for the 
thorough understanding and mastery of the subject. 
Only one thing at a time can be studied. Inciden- 
tally, of course, both oral and written language is 
taught most effectively, as moral instruction awakens 
many thoughts of vital interest in the child's mind 
to which he will give spontaneous utterance. But to 
the child, it is studying only the great subject of how 
to do right, how to live. These moral principles 

7 



8 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



must be studied as thoroughly as those of any other 
branch of knowledge. This course of regular instruc- 
tion would dispel the utter ignorance on the subject, 
which is now too often the cause of immorality. 
Ignorance could then, at least, no longer be pleaded 
as an excuse for wrong-doing. 

But many earnest teachers are opposed to the spe- 
cial study of morality in our public schools. " Do not 
moralize," is their plea. The answer is. Teaching 
the laws and principles of moral conduct is not 
moralizing. It is giving information which the state 
owes its future citizens. No one can be, in justice, 
expected to obey the laws of which he is ignorant, and 
certainly such ignorance is more harmful in its effect 
than any other. Only when the nation as a whole 
understands, as it does not now, the principles which 
should govern the actions of men, can it attain an 
elevated moral standpoint. 

In the universities and in some high schools, ethics 
are taught; but it is believed by many thoughtful edu- 
cators that younger children should not be taught 
ethics, excepting incidentally in connection with school 
government. They fear that it will lead to morbid 
introspection in the child, and to what they are pleased 
to call the " curse of the New England conscience," 
which makes its unfortunate possessor feel continually 
" under condemnation." 

Now it is not only to gain a knowledge of moral 
principles, but also to avoid the possibility of falling 
into such a pitiable condition of mind, that the plea 
for broad, comprehensive moral culture is made. A 
mind accustomed to finding the principles of right 



Introduction. 



9 



which underlie even every-day questions will learn to 
see the true proportion of things, and will never be 
weighed down by a sense of wrong when this is un- 
just to itself. Moreover, what is this much-to-be- 
feared New England conscience? Its very existence 
simply proves that moral lessons, taught in early 
childhood, cannot easily be eradicated. 

" As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined." In the 
truth of this old adage the Pilgrim Fathers believed. 
New England parents of former times brought up 
their children in the name and in the fear of God; 
but it was in the fear of an angry, jealous God, whose 
threatening presence was always with them. They 
succeeded in rearing a race strong, stern, and unflinch- 
ing in all matters of religion. ( This does not mean 
that they were necessarily honest and just. Their 
treatment of the Indians, of the Quakers, or any others 
differing from them in religious matters, is notorious.) 

Times have changed. Wo no longer fear an angry 
God, but we pray to a loving Father, who wishes us 
to see in every man His child, our brother, whom we 
are to love as ourselves. Instead of narrow com- 
mands and precepts with which the Puritan was 
bound, we teach broad principles of the Ideal Right, 
and call upon every individual to formulate the laws 
of his own conduct accordingly. We can learn from 
the Puritans that firm faithfulness with which they 
impressed their precepts upon the young minds, how- 
ever ^' uncouth Time may have rendered their Right." 

Little children can well understand what is right 
and wrong, and why it is so. They have to live their 
lives and form habits which will influence their future. 



10 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



They have a free will, and can act as they decide, mak- 
ing their existence either a blessing or a torment to 
all around them. Why, then, should they not he 
taught the principles of morality as far as they can 
understand them? A child begins to lead its own 
inner life, it learns to reason about things, as soon 
as it begins to think, and it thus becomes the center 
of a circle from which its influence extends either for 
good or for evil. There is no stand-still in moral 
life. Either backward or forward men must go. 
Is it right, then, to let children grow up all the while 
working at the very foundation of their lives, without 
giving them the principles according to which they 
should build? Everything received as truth in child- 
hood, that enters into the life and activities of the 
young mind, retains through all the years of later life 
a poetic charm which no lessons of after years can 
equal. If the experience of the man confirms the 
truth of the child's instructions, he will very often 
live up to them more and more. Especially is this 
the case with the young, earnest men and women who 
have children to train. The eager demands of the 
little ones make them reach far back into their child- 
hood to find those things which have been helpful to 
them in their own moral development. 

That the principles of true morality should be taught 
in the public schools, no one will doubt, who has ob- 
served the foolish manner in which most children are 
trained at home. Few parents know what real moral 
culture is. They have frequently only very vague no- 
tions of Right or Wrong, but in a general way they 
want their children to do the one and avoid the other, 



Introduction. 



11 



though they are, as a rule, not impartial enough to 
judge the shortcomings of their own children justly. 

Many parents, moreover, often laugh at serious faults 
when in good humor, and punish innocent doings 
severely when they happen to be irritable. In fact, 
very few parents have themselves ever had any special 
moral instruction, and consequently they cannot give 
it to their children. It is like the mental instruction 
which the child receives at home. A few parents 
know how to teach, and their children make rapid pro- 
gress, but in most cases the home training is deficient, 
and for the education of the people we must depend 
upon good schools for moral as well as mental devel- 
opment. 

Upon the teachers of our public schools must de- 
pend much of the progress in moral lines which all 
patriotic citizens fondly hope may raise our national 
character above anything dreamed of so far. 

At present, conditions for rational school work are 
hard, but with the elevation of public morals will 
come the ideal school, in which the kindergarten spirit 
and the kindergarten conditions as to time, numbers, 
and materials furnished for work will be realities. 

If teachers will enter into the best spirit of our time, 
that which is to be found in the writings of Charles 
Kingsley, James Russell Lowell, Thomas Hughes, and 
Jane Addams, and carry into their school life this 
same magnificent sympathy with all their kind, this 
same confidence in all humanity, whether rich or 
poor, old or young, they will find that teaching moral 
principles will become the happiest work of their 
lives. School will not drag upon their hands; a new 



12 Moral Culture as a Science. 



meaning and a higher significance will appear about 
even every-day occurrences. Their eyes will be opened, 
and they will see the rich fields waiting for the sower 
to scatter good seeds before the weeds have had time 
to cover the land! 

Although this book was designed to lead teachers 
to realize the necessity of and to give some practical 
help in teaching moral principles, yet it is not ex- 
pected nor desired that teachers will accept the views 
presented without questioning their correctness. On 
the contrary, it is hoped that all readers may, to their 
own satisfaction, verify all the conclusions reached, 
and act accordingly. 



MORAL CULTURE AS A SCIENCE. 



JJart Iix6t 

CHAPTER I. 
WHAT IS MORALITY? 

In every human being there exists an innate sense 
that some acts are less right to perform than others; 
that there is a right and a wrong. 

We recognize this sense in the little child, and find 
it also in the savage. When this sense is cultivated 
it becomes moral judgment. Associated with this 
there is a feeling, also inborn, which prompts us to 
do the right and fear the wrong; this is called con- 
science. These instincts are the basis of all morality, 
and on this basis we must build the science of moral- 
ity, — i.e., the knowledge of that which is right accord- 
ing to our present conception of the word. This 
knowledge of right is not inborn, but varies with the 
age and education of the individual, and the spirit of 
the time in which he may Hve. 

From history we learn of many unjust and terrible 
deeds committed under the impression that they were 
right. Even now our civilization allows wrongs to 
be committed which will seem inhuman and savage in 
a hundred years. In countries that we call civil- 
ized," the teachings of Christ are accepted theoreti- 
cally as the highest conceptions of morality. They 
are summed up in the great command, " Love the 
Lord thy God above all, and thy neighbor as thyself." 

13 



14 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



These form the foundation upon which, in theory, 
the right and wrong are based and by which we meas- 
ure the righteousness of any act. 

In the United States, the constitution separates 
church and state, and for that reason religion cannot 
be taught in the public schools, for many persons con- 
sider the belief in God a superstition, and do not want 
their children to hear of it in school. Other parents 
object to having their children taught even the sim- 
plest religious principles by any but members of their 
own denomination. Therefore the teaching of a per- 
sonal God must be left to home and church; but no 
parents will object to having their children taught the 
laws of God, Love, Truth, Justice, Honesty, and Hu- 
mility, for these are the foundation of all our con- 
ceptions of right at the present time. 

The law of Moses, " Love the Lord thy God with 
all thy heart," is the expression of our inborn longing 
for something that is higher and better than that 
which we have. The desire for the ideal expresses 
itself in it; therefore we may call truth, honesty, hu- 
mility, and justness the ideal virtues. They are to the 
character what temper is to steel and brilUancy to the 
diamond. The temper makes the difference between 
steel and pig-iron; the brilliancy distinguishes the 
stone from glass. Thus love of truth and right 
belongs to the noble character, above the time-server 
and man of policy. 

The second great ethical law that we have accepted 
is, " Love thy neighbor as thyself." Not with your 
whole heart, as you love truth and right, but as your- 
self; willing to give to him what you wish that he 
should give to you, — help, respect, and consideration. 



What is Morality? 



15 



The instinctive desire for the sympathy and love of 
others which all possess, is one of the earliest manifes- 
tations of the child's moral nature. Its reciprocal, 
love of man, is the source of the social virtues, which, 
by their general exercise, bring most of pleasure and 
happiness into the human life. Their key-note is the 
Golden Rule, ''Do unto others as you would have 
others do unto you," and the life that is without 
them may be pronounced a partial failure, with but 
little true happiness in it. The virtues founded on 
the love of man, constituting the group of social vir- 
tues, include benevolence, kindness, generosity, grati- 
tude, etc. 

Naturally, children want to do right; their hearts 
glow when they hear of a noble, generous deed, and 
they want to imitate it. They love their parents and 
friends, and are glad to show this love to them. But 
there is so much pleasure to be had from the fulfill- 
ment of the desires, so often advantages of a certain 
kind to be gained by wrong-doing, that if they have 
not learned to control their love of pleasure, they can- 
not do right. Not until they have learned to do right 
by training and strengthening the will to Hsten to the 
dictates of judgment and conscience, are they able to 
overcome their passions in the time of temptation, 
and make of these stepping-stones to a higher life. 

Little by little the will must be trained, as an ath- 
lete is trained for his feats of endurance. Only in 
this way can children learn the practice of self-control 
in their daily life. 

The virtues that flow more particularly from self- 
control may be called the personal virtues, for they 



16 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



refer more directly to the person himself. They are 
temperance, diligence, courage, chastity, patience, 
cheerfulness, etc. The foundation of all virtues is 
self-control; for a man who cannot control his pas- 
sions and emotions can never be depended upon. He 
may love his fellow-men, he may love right and wish 
to follow it, yet his passions and emotions present 
their claims, and not ha^dng learned to deny or con- 
trol them, his good intentions come to naught. Self- 
control is the most difficult lesson to learn. Natural 
instinct helps children to love the other virtues, but 
the control of self is uphill work. Yet, continual 
self-control of desires and pleasures, even of their 
thoughts and of their wishes, is the price which they 
must pay for the mastery over self. This continual 
self-control is against all natural impulses. But is 
not the victory over self worth the price that it costs? 
Henry More happily expresses the gain in the follow- 
ing words: — 

" By persisting in a habit of self-denial, we shall, 
beyond what I can express, increase the inward pow- 
ers of the mind, and shall produce that cheerfulness 
and greatness of spirit as will fit us for all good pur- 
poses; and shall not have lost pleasure, but changed 
it; the soul being then filled with its own intrinsic 
pleasures." 



CHAPTER II. 



THE APPETITES OF THE BODY. 

In moral culture, the Appetites of the Body and the 
Desires and Emotions of the Mind are the factors with f 
which we have to deal. 

The Appetites of the Body, four in number, are ne- 
cessary for the existence of the individual and the race. 
Man shares them with every organism possessing 
life, — not only with the lower animals, but also with 
plants. They are, — 

The Appetite for Nourishment (air, food, drink). 

For Activity. 

For Rest. 

For Reproduction. 

Thus it is, without doubt, a moral duty to take as 
much fresh air and wholesome nourishment as the 
welfare of the body demands. Nature has made the 
fulfillment of this duty so pleasant that man often 
eats and drinks more than the body can assimilate, or 
food y/hich he knows to be unwholesome, though 
pleasing to the palate. Sometimes, the natural appe- 
tite is allowed to become a passion, which may dLO- 
stroy the power of the will, leaving its poor victim a 
wreck. 

The Appetite for Food. The deeire for nour- 
ishment, expressed by thirst, is the first to appear in 
independent Ufe, as well in the little human baby as 
in the baby plant. Indeed, the absorption of nutri- 

17 



18 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



tive material from a solution, and the removal of waste 
matter, seem to be the fundamental acts of that unex- 
plained mystery, Life, in whatever stage of existence 
it may be found. 

This appetite includes the desire for shelter and 
clothing, which, indirectly, may be said to nourish 
the body by economizing the expenditure of vital 
force, and therefore of nourishment necessary to pro- 
duce this force. This first-developed and most funda- 
mental appetite in man has become the source of all 
industrial advances that have been made through the 
progress of civilization, as it is also the source of the 
ambition for wealth. 

For Activity. Activity of the body is necessary 
for its growth and perfect development. No muscle 
will develop and increase as it should, unless it is in 
active use, and a child that is for the most part kept 
quiet indoors remains weak and small. Muscular ex- 
ercise increases the force of circulation, brings a 
greater blood supply to every tissue, and so promotes 
the active changes which are necessary for growth and 
health. The desire for activity is therefore universally 
found. The smallest baby executes purposeless move- 
ments with its limbs, and mothers know that the child 
that does not " kick " is not " all right. " Even trees 
growing in exposed places are more gnarled, perhaps, 
but also stronger, tougher, and more vigorous, than 
others of the same species growing in sheltered loca- 
tions. 

Activity, carried to excess, may degenerate into de- 
structiveness. By producing a passion for out-of-door 
sports at all costs, it may interfere with the child's 



The Appetites of the Body. 



19 



mental development, and lessen or destroy his useful- 
ness as an individual. 

For Rest. The appetite for rest is the sequel and 
counterpart of that for activity. What a delicious 
feeling of relief is produced by rest, after a busy day, 
when the body is thoroughly fatigued. Rest, under 
such circumstances, is generally accompanied by a 
deep and refreshing sleep. The child sleeps in its 
mother's arms; the dog curls up and sleeps in the sun- 
shine; at night, the flowers close, the leaves fold up, 
and plants, as well as animals, appear to rest. 

The word " rest " presupposes a pre^uous exertion. 
The appetite for rest may, however, and in later life 
too often does, degenerate into indolence, — a desire for 
rest without previous exertion. While pleasure af- 
forded by rest after activity is one of the kind gifts of 
nature to promote human welfare and happiness, in- 
dolence will slowly, but surely, sap away all life and 
energy, every high and noble feeling, leaving its vic- 
tim a mere vegetating being, too often to fall an easily 
yielding prey to the other appetites, excepting that for 
activity. Perhaps no other appetite exerts such a 
strong influence over a great many, otherwise good, 
conscientious persons; laziness enters as a dry-rot into 
many lives. 

Reproduction. The three appetites above de- 
scribed are necessary for the well-being of the indi- 
vidual. They therefore appear with the first dawn 
of life. That for reproduction has for its object the 
perpetuation of the race, and does not appear in normal 
individuals until the age of maturity. Like the others, 
it exists in a rudimentary form among plants. Among 

1 



20 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



the higher animals it develops not only into a true 
conjugal love, but often into a self-sacrificing love for 
the offspring. In man, developed and expanded, it 
becomes the source of the noblest and most enduring 
feelings of his nature, — the pure love between hus- 
band and wife, and strong, self-forgetful, parental 
love. 

This appetite is sometimes found active in children, 
either from an inherited nervous constitution (which 
should be treated by hygienic and other measures), or 
more generally because it has been forced into its pre- 
cocious development by bad habits. Prominent among 
the latter is the pernicious one of "teasing" or ban- 
tering a child because of some real or fancied prefer- 
ence for a child of the opposite sex. This habit is 
only too often indulged in by young and old, including 
even teachers, yet nothing could be more mischievous 
in its effects upon the young mind. Such a course 
prematurely awakens desires, which, if left to their 
natural growth, may become the source of the purest 
happiness. But thus early to awaken what nature 
intended to lie dormant is like tearing open the bud 
of a flower: even if the bud is not destroyed, yet there- 
after it can never attain to that perfection of beauty 
which it might have reached had it been left to de- 
velop naturally. When young people have passed the 
period of childhood without having lost that purity of 
feeling which is their rightful inheritance, they will 
acquire a certain reserve, a reticent modesty, which 
nature provides as a protector against the too rapid 
development of this instinct. What a proof of the 
sacred beauty of conjugal relation is it, that even 



The Appetites of the Body. 



21 



plants are arrayed in gorgeous splendor at the time of 
their marriage! 

As long as these appetites are servants under the 
control of Will and Judgment, they contribute in a 
great measure to the enjoyment of life, but when any 
one of them becomes master, it changes into a passion 
and leads towards mental and physical destruction. 



CHAPTER III. 



THE DESIRES OF THE MIND. 

The Desires of the Mind are analogous to those of 
the body, and like them may be classified into, — 
The Desire for Mental Nourishment. 
For Activity. 
For Rest. 
For Reproduction. 

Animals possess them in a rudimentary form. 

The Desire for Mental Nourishment. This de- 
sire shows itself (a) as a thirst for knowledge, and (b) 
as curiosity; the former representing the desire for 
scientific knowledge or any higher information, the 
latter, that for an acquaintance with the surroundings 
and pergonal affairs of others. 

Like its physical analogue, this desire appears very 
early, being one of the first manifestations of the 
awakening mind. Children eagerly accept all knowl- 
edge presented to them, and are gifted with acute 
powers of observation; indeed, we may measure the 
youthfulness and vigor of the mind in later years by 
the degree of its receptivity for new facts and theories. 

A distinct form of this instinct is the desire for moral 
nourishment, which is generally a marked character- 
istic, especially of the youthful mind. All normal per- 
sons, young or old, enjoy hearing or reading of deeds 
of heroism, self-sacrifice, or other virtues. 

The desire for knowledge, when not properly di- 
22 



The Desires of the Mind. 



23 



reeled into useful channels, may become perverted into 
idle curiosity and inquisitiveness. The mind that has 
good wholesome work to do will rarely waste valuable 
time over other people's affairs. But when the ab- 
sorbing and important lines of knowledge are closed 
against it, this desire finds vent in a curious prying 
into the minor matters of life. The more penetrating 
and thirsty for knowledge a mind is, the more capable 
of following legitimate lines of investigation when the 
opportunities are given, the more prying and curious 
will it become when the avenues for obtaining useful 
information are cut off, and it will become so in exact 
proportion to the closing up of these avenues. 

This is the reason why curiosity has been more often 
a fault of woman than of man. She was confined to 
the narrow limits of her household; her life was con- 
tracted; knowledge of an elevating, practical kind, or 
an interest and an influence upon the practical issues 
of the day, were too often forbidden her by public 
opinion. But nature has endowed her, like her brother, 
with a thirst for knowledge, and bafiled in its efforts 
to get at the great, moving truths of the world, it 
turns into a thousand small, often degrading, channels, 
where this noble desire, like a stream turned into a 
swamp, spends itself in doing harm rather than good. 

The Desire for Mental Activity. Like the pre- 
ceding, this is manifested at an early period. Very 
small children like to learn. As they grow older, they 
enjoy riddles, arithmetical problems, " questions on 
the map, " in geography, etc. Moderate activity of 
the mind is pleasant and exhilarating to almost every 
one, though the direction it takes may be a perverted 
one. 



24 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



This desire, combined with the preceding one, is 
the source of all scientific investigation, and its value 
in the progress of the race cannot be overestimated. 

Like the preceding, it also has a moral aspect, and 
can be made of much use in the training of the child. 
Who does not enjoy the consciousness of having done 
a good deed? The satisfaction experienced when a 
person has stepped out of his ordinary course to per- 
form some kind of heroic or self-sacrificing act invites 
to a repetition of the act, — i.e., to moral activity. 

The Desire for Mental Rest. This is the 
sequence of acti^dty in a normal mind, but mental 
rest need not always mean entire mental inactivity. 
The mind often turns from one employment to an- 
other, and is rested thereby, — a fact which teachers 
make use of freely at the present time. But as there 
is a physical, so there is a mental indolence, which 
does much harm, weakening and degrading the mind, 
and rendering it unfit for useful work. This is fos- 
tered by mental idleness, the pursuance of unworthy 
objects which do not tax the mental powers, — above 
all, by day dreaming, the idle conjuring up before the 
mind's eye of images and pictures picked up from 
light literature, and of which the first person is always 
the hero. Nothing is more harmful to the mind than 
this sort of dreaming. Mental indolence it is which 
leads people blindly to accept another's statement, es- 
pecially when presented with sufficient force and posi- 
tiveness, \\dthout investigating its truth or fal^itJ^ 
Mental indolence is not common among children, but 
it may be produced by enforcing a too implicit ac- 
ceptance of facts or statements which they do not un- 
derstand. 



The Desires of the Mind, 



25 



From a moral point of view, there is much of this 
indolence. Men and women too often accept the con- 
clusions and rules of conduct formulated for them by 
those "in authority." This is easy, and saves them the 
trouble of carefully thinking out these things for them- 
selves. This refers as well to a destructive as to a 
constructive line of thought, — i.e., as well to those 
who destroy or deny accepted doctrines as to those 
who attempt to establish them. Ingersoll has propor- 
tionally as many unthinking followers, who repeat his 
phrases and arguments in a parrot-like manner, as are 
found in any religious sect or denomination. 

The Desire for Reproduction. This is, perhaps, 
one of the strongest of mental desires. The child, in 
his eager stories, tries to reproduce what he has seen, 
or upon his slate attempts to picture the objects which 
surround him; the man copies what he has seen others 
do. Nearly every act of life is a reproduction of 
one that has been performed before, either by the in- 
dividual himself, or by some one else from whom he has 
consciously or unconsciously adopted it. Imitation 
and Habit are two strong faculties which grow from 
this desire, and they enter deeply into every life for 
good or for evil, to elevate or to degrade. 

From a moral point of view, this desire is of the 
widest importance, for Imitation and Habit influence 
the lives of men, even against their better judgment. 

Imitation. When a child often hears of or sees any 
certain deed committed, after a time memory will 
bring it up, and imitation causes the involuntary de- 
sire to do the same thing. This may occur, even 
though the act be a frightful one, which at first 



26 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



awakened only horror and disgust. Imitation may, 
in this way, lead to actual deeds of violence and epi- 
demics of crime. In the words of Pope, — 

"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen. 
Yet seen too oft, famihar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 

For this reason the detailed relation of such deeds 
in the newspapers — details which are greedily de- 
voured by the majority of uncultivated minds, old and 
young — so often develops criminals and breeds crime. 

On the other hand, if the action presented to the 
mind is such a one as to awaken admiration, it will 
equally stimulate imitation, and so may become the 
source of deeds of heroism, self-denial, and other 
virtues. 

This principle was understood and acted upon by 
the savage and barbaric nations of all times and coun- 
tries, — the ancient Scandinavians, the Anglo-Saxons, 
the Greeks, the Indians; in fact, all, so far as known. 
By singing the deeds of heroism and prowess per- 
formed by men of bygone days, their bards sought to 
incite the men of their time to courage, and to the de- 
termination to equal or surpass the deeds of the heroes 
of their songs. Some of our most beautiful poems 
have come to us in this way, as those of Homer, the 
Nibelungen Lied, the Frithjofs Saga, and many others. 

Habit. " Habits begin as cobwebs and end as iron 
chains." 

Habit is organic memory, — i.e., a memory residing 
in or impression made upon the various nerve cells 
and fibers, muscle fibers, and other tissue elements 



The Desires of the Mind. 



27 



which took part in the performance of any certain act, 
and which makes every repetition of the act easier. 
Habit, then, is a tendency to reperform acts once per- 
formed, either mental, moral, or physical. Thus we 
have physical habits, such as awakening at a certain 
hour, performing certain movements, or "tricks" of 
manner, etc. We have mental habits. One man will 
take all sorts of "short-cuts" in solving an arith- 
metical problem, another goes the roundabout way: 
one man's habits of thought are quick, direct, inci- 
sive; another's, slow and wandering from the point. 
We have moral habits: one person will do as the im- 
pulse prompts him, and consider afterward; another 
will not consider at all; a third considers beforehand, 
"What will they say if I do this?" a fourth, "Is it 
right?" 

In the performance of any, even the simplest, act, 
various parts of the brain and body must work to- 
gether. The volitional centers in the brain send their 
orders, by certain association fibers, to the lower cen- 
ters controlling the various muscles to be employed, 
and these in turn transmit them by various stages to 
the latter. The performance of the act will at first be 
comparatively slow and awkward, but with every rep- 
etition it becomes more and more easy, and a path is 
formed along which each succeeding impulse passes 
with increasing facility. Thus a wagon, passing for 
the first time over an unbroken prairie, finds the 
road rough and uneven, and leaves but a faint trace 
behind; yet if the same road be traveled every day, it 
soon becomes well marked, and is more and more easily 
followed. 



28 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



How difficult are the first steps in learning to per- 
form on the piano; how laborious to find the association 
paths; how must each finger, separately, be taught to 
do its part; yet when the habit is established, these 
paths are so well worn that consciousness becomes en- 
tirely unnecessary in the performance of the act. 

So it is with all habits, and fortunate is the person 
who has been trained from childhood to habits of 
cheerfulness, courtesy, and diligence. "Habits begin 
as cobwebs and end as iron chains." The proverb ex- 
presses well the harm that may be done by the forma- 
tion of evil habits, and shows the great importance of 
habit in moral training. Yet habits may change when 
the surroundings which produced them change, and new 
ones may be formed, perhaps the opposite of those 
first contracted. Therefore, mere good habits must not 
be confounded with true moral culture, which, founded 
on principles, will never change, except with the 
honest conviction of the person. 



CHAPTER IV. 



ATTRIBUTES AND EMOTIONS, 

The mind has certain attributes, and feels certain 
emotions. Among the most important of the former 
are Reason, Faith, and Imagination. 

Reason ( Vernunft ) is here used to denote the power 
of abstract thought, and the faculty of discovering 
the relations between cause and effect. It lifts man 
above nature, so that he can study her laws and make 
her powers his servants. It also enables him to study 
the faculties of the soul, and so to adjust cause and 
effect that the character may become such as his 
judgment approves of. One of the manifestations of 
reason is the power of judgment, which, properly 
educated and applied, becomes a most important 
guide to a useful and moral life. 

Faith is here used to denote that power or faculty 
of the human mind by which it is led to a belief in a Su- 
preme Being, over and above nature, but whose exist- 
ence does not admit of direct and absolute proof by a 
process of reasoning. Its tenets, too, cannot be proven 
beyond a doubt by evidence perceptible to the senses. 
Individual opinions regarding the supernatural, 
therefore, vary much, from a complete denial of its 
existence to a belief of its intervention in the most 
trivial occurrences of daily life. Every man has his 
own faith, then, the truth of which, however, he may 

29 



30 



Moral Culture as a Science* 



not be able to prove satisfactorily to any one else, as 
he himself cannot be readily convinced of error. 

Imagination. This is one of the most important of 
the mental attributes, as an agent, either of advance 
or retrogression. Without imagination no great ad- 
vance in science has ever been made, for the imagina- 
tion first penetrates into the unknown, divining the 
possibilities, then reason steps in and verifies or dis- 
proves them. By acting upon the imagination, the 
child and the man may each be aroused to deeds 
of which he is ordinarily incapable, — deeds which 
may either elevate him above his usual self or de- 
grade him below it. Excitation of this faculty alone, 
without the concomitant action of reason and 
judgment, is harmful, and causes one of the highest 
faculties of the human mind to degenerate into 
idle phantasy. 

When the unguided imagination is allowed to dwell 
upon low subjects, it becomes the cause of mental 
degradation, and often the source of evil habits. The 
danger of sensational literature lies greatly in this 
power it possesses of exciting the imagination by the 
impure images it calls up. This may also occur with 
literature intended only for instructive purposes, 
when the mind is poorly balanced. 

Important among the emotions are, Selfishness, 
Love, Fear. 

Selfishness, or Love of Self, is by nature one of the 
mainsprings of man's actions. Every man is to him- 
self the center around which the whole universe re- 
volves. As every man has not only his own zenith, 
which, diverging from every other man's, reaches into 



Attributes and Emotions. 



31 



infinity, but also his own nadir, which unites him at 
the center of the earth with all his fellow-men, so he has 
an inner life, all his own, which never does and never 
can become merged into another's, besides, also, a 
deep-rooted instinct which binds him to his fellow- 
creatures. 

The first natural impulse of man, springing from 
selfishness, is to obtain for himself whatever he de- 
sires. A baby attempts to put into its mouth every- 
thing that it covets, instinctively trying thus to make 
it its own, until it learns by experience that that re- 
ceptacle is too small for such a purpose. Few healthy 
babies are willing to give up what they want, but they 
fight for it with voice and fist. Under careful 
training, a child may learn to give up to others, and 
often without a struggle, as it learns to walk and 
speak, parents perhaps not even realizing what a great 
lesson they have taught. When a child is three or four 
years old it is usually more generous, and willing to 
share with its friends the gifts love has bestowed. It 
has learned to love others, and the desire to give them 
pleasure restrains its selfish impulses; but they appear 
again in the childish craving for approbation and 
praise for its generosity. 

When selfishness alone is the source of man's in- 
stincts, they are of a low order. Covetousness, 
Avarice, Revenge, Pride, Envy, Hatred, Vanity, are 
some of its children. Selfishness has its proper place 
in the human economy, like every other natural im- 
pulse, but it must be kept within bounds or it will 
mar the whole character. 

Love, This is here used to denote the kindly 



82 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



feelings which man entertains toward his fellow-men, 
without thought of any selfish gratification. Love is 
the greatest antagonist of selfishness, counteracting its 
desires and neutralizing its effects. It is the source of 
filial affection, friendship, patriotism, kindness, gene- 
rosity, patience, and all kindred virtues; it should be 
the foundation upon which the relations of the family, 
of society, and of the state are based. 

Love alone, however, untempered by a wholesome 
amount of selfishness, may make the individual as 
unjust to himself as selfishness, unrestrained by love, 
makes him towards others. Selfishness contracts the 
whole universe into the circle of its own narrow de- 
sires, while love widens the circle of its sympathies 
to take in the world. It is best that both be united in 
due proportion. 

Fear. As a guard between the physical and men- 
tal attributes stands the powerful instinct of self- 
preservation, and its representative among the feelings, 
Fear. It is this instinct which tends to preserve the 
union between body and soul, causing them to shrink 
from dissolution, which means death. Through fear, 
man flies instinctively from threatening danger. Phys- 
ical fear, being a horror of death, becomes preserva- 
tive of life, and few living creatures, men or animals, 
would reach old age, were they without this useful 
instinct. It has, therefore, a well-defined place in the 
economy of nature, and it is man's duty to listen to 
its warnings and obey its impulses as controlled by 
will and judgment, but these should not be over- 
powering, lest cowardice be the result. 

Prom a moral aspect;, fear is at the root of much 



Attributes and Emotions. 



33 



untruthfulness of word and deed. Fear of death and 
of danger, of losing property and friends, of being 
understood or misunderstood, may be strong, and to 
avoid the things feared, man resorts to subterfuges 
and falsehoods of which he is ashamed. To justify 
these, he gives them other names, calling cowardice, 
prudence; hypocrisy, kindness; etc. But fear, edu-^ 
cated, ennobled, and brought under the control of the 
will, becomes the safeguard of conscience by producing 
a horror of any wrong which might lead toward moral 
death, — the loss of honor and self-respect. 

These, then^ are the most important principles 
which make up man's economy, — a little common- 
wealth in itself, with ruler and subjects of different 
degrees. 

Chief executive is the Will. He is the King, in 
whom all responsibility centers, and Judgment sits as 
Queen by his side, to guide and direct him. Counsel- 
ors are Love, Conscience, and Reason, to whom King 
and Queen may turn in perplexing cases. The sub- 
jects are the appetites and desires of body and mind. 
These must have in Selfishness a representative at 
Court, but he should be kept in the background, to 
be considered, but rarely to become prominent. 

Such is the kingdom of man, ordered as it should be. 

Unfortunately, the Will is often weak, the Judg- 
ment uncertain. Too often the Queen's calm voice is 
drowned in the clamor of passions and appetites. Too 
often the King, unheeding those in high positions, 
lends his ear to the lowest, but also the most fawning, 
of his counselors. Selfishness, and allows first one and 
then the other of his constituents to usurp the kingly 



34 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



power, while he sits idly by on his throne, or even lends 
the sanction of his authority to the rebellious outbreak. 

The object of all moral culture is to train Will and 
Judgment for the high positions, that they may be 
able to keep their subjects under control, in and of 
themselves, without outside help; for the rulers who 
depend on help from without to govern their own 
kingdom sit on tottering thrones, and are at the 
mercy of changing circumstances. Only those who in 
themselves have the power of perfect control can 
never be dethroned. 



CHAPTER V. 



MENTAL AND MORAL TRAINING. 

Every man has a physical, a mental, and a moral 
nature, but these differ widely in the cultivation and 
prominence they should receive. The physical nature 
should have its due consideration and training, but 
its appetites should never rise to the position of de- 
manding absorbing attention; nor is excess of refine- 
ment of these appetites of special benefit to the body, 
but quite often the reverse. Thus the structure of the 
body will be the same in the millionaire who dines at 
Delmonico's on turtle soup and pate de fois gras^ and 
in the workman who sits by the roadside eating his 
bread and cheese; provided both meals contain the 
necessary nutriment, and provided in both cases the 
appetite is restrained within the proper limits, — pro- 
visions which are more likely to be fulfilled in the case 
of the workman than in that of the millionaire. 

From both meals nature will elaborate the material 
necessary for building up the tissues of the body. 

But the mental, and still more the moral, nature 
with which we are here specially concerned varies 
much with the nature of the food received. A person 
with an active, inquiring mind may become an ardent 
seeker after or a disseminator of useful knowledge, or 
an inveterate gossip, according to his opportunities for 
acquiring information. A person with an enthusiastic, 
imaginative mind may become a power for good in 

35 



36 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



his community by being taught to appreciate and ad- 
mire the characteristics of such persons as George 
Washington, Sister Dora, or Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
or he may become a dangerous criminal by feeding 
upon accounts of the exploits of the heroes of the 
blood-and-thunder literature of the day, and trying to 
imitate them. 

What a gain, then, in every sense, is not moral cul- 
ture to the individual? What a difference is there 
not between the well-developed and controlled faculties 
of the morally refined, and the rude selfishness of a 
morally unrefined character? Of course, neither out- 
ward polish nor mere intellectual training is here re- 
ferred to, but true moral culture, which means a very 
different thing. Abraham Lincoln, even while a rude 
woodchopper, had a noble nature, for he strove after 
the best and highest, while George IV, though because 
of his polished manners styled the " first gentleman of 
Europe, " at heart was coarse and unrefined. 

The education and advance of the mental nature 
differ widely from those of the moral. Science has 
laws which can be learned, rules which can be fol- 
lowed. By the aid of definite rules in mathematics, 
every problem in that science may be solved, even 
by those who never, of themselves, could have dis- 
covered the laws or formulated the rules by which 
the work is done. So men of the present day can 
appropriate to their own use the scientific discoveries 
of bygone ages in every path of intellectual advance- 
ment. 

This, however, is not true, in the same sense, of moral 
education. A man may have the best instruction re- 



Mental and Moral Training. 



37 



garding his moral duties, may know well the conse- 
quences of wrong-doing, and still lack the power, or 
even the will, to do right. These must be separately 
developed in each person; every one must, for himself, 
learn to avoid the pitfalls that await him; every one, 
anew, must learn to control the appetites and desires; 
and the knowledge that the same education has been 
gained, that the same pitfalls have been avoided, that 
the same passions have been controlled, by thousands 
of others before him will only slightly aid him in his 
moral career. 

The scientific explorer, who, by investigation, opens 
up new fields of research to the inquiring mind, may 
be compared to the pioneer, who, traveling the paths 
discovered by former explorers, enters the wilderness 
of unexplained facts and undemonstrated theories. 
Some of these he may explain, clearing up the myste- 
ries which surrounded them, so that those who follow 
him, finding the obstructions removed, can, in their 
turn, approach new problems, which, the farther they 
advance, the loftier arise. 

The moral reformer, on the other hand, is like the 
leader of a fleet of ships, which, turned from its 
course by the storms of passions, and tossed by the 
waves of feeling, is trying to gain the haven of noble 
manhood. The port is not unknown, but no definite 
path leading to it can be pointed out. Each ship 
must find its own course, fight its own battles with 
wind and wave; and it depends upon the skill and 
wisdom of its master, Will, whether it reach the port 
in safety, or perish on the high seas. The leader can 
point out to the others how to escape the storm, quiet 



38 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



the waves, and avoid the dangers lurking in the deep; 
he can supply a chart, that those who have strayed 
from the right course may return to it; but that is all 
he can do. He cannot point out a safe and sure path 
which every one may follow. 

This is the great difference between mental and moral 
progress. Intellectually, the human race can forever 
advance, until Science mi.y reach a height of which 
the present generation has no conception; morally, 
every person must go over the same ground, overcome 
the same temptations, and yet can reach only the same 
heights which noble men have attained before. 

The field of scientific research only a few gifted need 
enter; the rest can use v/hat these discover: but the 
moral problems each individual must solve for himself, 
and according to his success does he sink or rise in 
the scale of humanity. 

It does not follow from the above that man cannot 
influence man in his moral nature; indeed, the moral 
influence which every one exerts upon his neighbors 
for good or evil, happiness or unhappiness, is very 
great. Taking only the item of happiness, — what a 
paradise would not this world be, if every one were 
guided in his actions by the principles of right; if no 
one yielded to the promptings of passion or self-love, 
which bring so much unhappiness into human lives. 

It is comparatively easy to teach a young person 
what is right or wrong in general. It is quite a differ- 
ent thing to prove to him in a given case, where his 
interests are concerned, that he is in the wrong. Even 
this admitted, it is still more difficult to induce him 



Mental and Moral Training. 



39 



to act according to the dictates of his unwilling con- 
science. 

There is a defect of vision in which the retina loses 
its sensibility to light upon one side. The majority of 
people suffer from a similar defect of moral vision in 
varying degrees. Partially blinded by selfishness, 
they see only one side — -their own side — of every 
question in which they are personally interested. It 
takes a long struggle with the lower impulses of man's 
nature to enable him to overcome this mental hemi- 
opia. 



CHAPTER VI. 



MORALITY IN SCHOOL. 

Classification. Morality teaches man's duty to 
himself and to his fellow-men; it is therefore of para- 
mount importance to the well-being of the state that 
all its citizens shall be carefully and systematically 
instructed in it. Therefore the state has the right, 
and it is its duty, to make Morality one of the com- 
pulsory branches of study in the public schools, 
especially as it is often neglected, or worse than 
neglected, in the home training of the child. 

At the present time a child is graded in the public 
schools almost exclusively according to his intellectual 
acquirements. He recognizes that that kind of knowl- 
edge alone is made the test of his advancement, and 
concludes that it alone is of practical importance. He 
sees that if his school deportment is not altogether too 
bad (and in many schools even this is not considered in 
grading a child) he will be placed at no particular 
disadvantage by having a bad moral character; for 
though the teacher may talk of the beauty and impor- 
tance of virtue, he belies his own expressed convictions 
by giving to a child's moral education no official 
weight or recognition. 

The pupil sees that the morally well-trained boy 
has no advantage over the vicious one, which is offi- 
cially recognized in the grading or other standing 
given him; and as a child, unbiased by the considera- 



Morality in School. 



41 



tion of expediencies, is often an acute logician, lie will 
quite naturally conclude that, after all, this talk about 
the necessity of virtue and morality is mere talk, and 
not to be accepted as a practical truth. 

After a teacher has given his scholars many glowing 
descriptions of the beauty of noble lives, has con- 
vinced them that to be good is of greater importance 
than any mere intellectual attainments, has awakened 
in them a desire to carry out the noble precepts he has 
placed before them, then they naturally feel that he 
ought to carry these principles into the classification 
of his school. A boy, somewhat dull, but with a 
sturdy purpose to do right, will feel bitterly disap- 
pointed when some brighter boy, though he may be 
disobedient and even thoroughly immoral, is advanced 
before him. He does not exactly understand how 
nor where, but he knows that somehow, somewhere, 
there is injustice done him; that the teacher's claims 
regarding the importance of a high moral standing, 
and his action in giving all official and public recog- 
nition and advancement to the boy of low moral 
standing, do not exactly tally. 

If good moral character is as important as good in- 
tellectual work, — and for the welfare of the nation as 
well as the individual it is far more so, — then this 
importance should be thoroughly impressed upon the 
child's mind, by making the moral as well as the 
intellectual standing a basis of classification. Half 
the force of the moral teaching is lost when high moral 
standing is unrecognized, and children of all kinds, 
the vicious and the pure, are classified alike, and only 
by their intellectual attainments. 



42 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



To remedy this evil, there should be instituted, in 
schools^ a classification according to the moral stand- 
ing of the child, which might be made very prominent, 
— a low grade in this being accounted particularly dis- 
graceful, in order to impress upon the childish mind 
the high esteem in which morality is held. Such im- 
pressions, received in childhood, generally remain, for 
good or harm, through life. 

In the periodical reports to the parents, this ''moral 
class" should be noted, aside from mere deportment, 
and its meaning explained, so that the attention of 
parents, too, may be directed to this subject. Deport- 
ment, which is simply school behavior, should not be 
confounded with true Morality, of which it forms only 
a very small part. Indeed, it is quite conceivable 
that the sweetest, purest children, morally, may be so 
active, so full of life and imagination, that their de- 
portment in school is far from perfect. It will be quite 
right and just, therefore, to classify deportment with 
the intellectual rather than with the moral attainments, 
unless moral questions, too, are involved. It is need- 
less to add that the two systems of classification — 
that on the moral and that on the intellectual basis — 
must be entirely separate and distinct; a child may 
advance in one and fall behind in the other, but the 
moral should ever be ranked as the higher. 

The following methods of classification will be found 
just and easily carried out: — 

There might be three Moral Classes, — First, Second, 
and Third. 

The First Class. This should contain all well- 
behaved children who try to do right. Children in 



Morality in School. 



43 



this class should be exempt from corporal punishment, 
and should have such other privileges as may be prac- 
ticable. Opportunity might often be taken to show 
confidence in and respect for their trustworthiness. 

The Second Class. A child loses its position in 
the first class and is transferred to the second class 
for willful disobedience, grave misdemeanor, such as 
lying or stealing, or for cruelty and viciousness. Chil- 
dren in this class are subject to corporal punishment 
at the discretion of the teacher. The teacher should 
also show them that he can no longer trust and confide 
in them as he did before; that they have forfeited this 
respect, since they are no longer worthy of it. Of this 
degradation in the child's standing the parents must 
be immediately notified, that they may know that he 
is now liable to other treatment from that first ac- 
corded to him. 

The children of these two classes are permitted to 
associate freely with each other during play hours. 

The Third Class. Once in a while a child is found 
so impure that its influence is like that of the upas 
tree, poisoning every healthy, living mind with which 
it is brought into contact. Such a one should be 
placed in the Third Class. A child in this class should 
not be allowed to sit among other children, but should 
be near and under the direct supervision of the 
teacher during school hours. He should have his re- 
cesses alone, should not be dismissed until all the 
others are well gone, and before school hours should 
be brought in and kept from contact with the other 
children as soon as he appears near the school premises. 

In this way the power of such a child to do mischief 



44 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



in school would be reduced to a minimum, and he and 
his companions would realize the degrading effects of 
the vice of impurity. In this way, too, such a child 
would be made even less dangerous in school than out 
of it, and out of school hours parents must take upon 
themselves the responsibility for the care of their 
children. 

As all punishment should be reformatory, the classi- 
fication should not hold good from one grade into the 
next indefinitely, as has been the mistaken method in 
some European schools; neither should a child be too 
easily promoted from a lower moral class into a higher 
at the discretion of a perhaps too tender-hearted 
teacher. Once a child has fallen from the first class, 
it must remain where it has been justly placed, until 
it advances a grade in school, when it again enters the 
first class. 

One important factor in the widespread youthful im- 
morality of the present day is found in the promiscuous 
intermingling, without regulation or restraint, of all 
kinds of children — the good, the indifferent, and the 
bad — in the public schools. It is not to be wondered 
at that thoughtful parents hesitate to send their care- 
fully trained child to a public school, where its seat- 
mate may teach it more harm in a day than they 
could eradicate in a year if they knew of it; and the 
worst is, that they generally do not know of it, for the 
canker is in the heart of the bud, eating out its beauty 
and usefulness, while the outside remains fair and 
promising. 

Yet the association of children of all classes and 
conditions in life with each other is highly beneficial 



Morality in School, 



45 



to all, promoting a truly republican spirit among 
them, and abolishing all pride of station or of 
snobbery. It were a pity that a child should be 
deprived of this useful contact with many others 
equally good, in order that it may not be demoralized 
by perhaps the only one thoroughly bad child in a 
school. By such a system of moral classification as 
outlined above, justly and strictly carried out, this 
evil could be remedied so that the good effect of the 
public school upon all children would not be lost, and 
that the bad child, while rendered harmless, may also 
be benefited. 

If such a system of classification were introduced, 
parents could no longer claim that their children were 
innocently whipped, for their rank in the second or 
third class would sufficiently characterize them; nor 
could they justify them by the baleful adage, " Boys 
will be boys, for they would find plenty of manly, 
honest boys in the first class. 

Among the children themselves, rowdyism would 
fall into disrepute, and a healthy feeling of pride in 
being above the possibility of being whipped would 
be created. Besides, this system would often obviate 
the necessity, now sometimes unavoidable for the 
moral protection of the rest, of expelling a child from 
school. Many an unruly child could be subdued in 
this way, who, perhaps, would yield to no other 
pjinishm-ent. Moreover, when such a one yielded it 
would not only be an outward yielding to the force of 
circumstances, but would also be a true change of 
character. To expel a child from school is one of the 
greatest injuries that can be done to it. The loss 



46 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



will bo greatest in later life, when repentance is unvail- 
ing to right the evil; for it is impossible to replace to 
the man that which he lost through lack of early 
training. 



CHAPTER VII. 



LOVE AND FEAR. 

The principal motive power controlling men's ac- 
tions are Love and Fear, and they are so indissolubly 
u*nited that they must be considered together. Love 
for self and selfish gratifications, for wealth, for ap- 
probation, for friends, for country, for principles, for 
right; and fear of physical discomforts, of pecuniary 
losses, of the law, of the verdict of men or near friends, 
above all, fear of the verdict of man's own conscience, 
— these, in progressing order, are the impelling and 
restraining forces of man's nature. 

The lowest love is that for physical well-being and 
the gratification of physical desires; the most abject 
fear is that based upon that love, and which appears 
when these possessions are endangered. This fear is 
the lowest restraining, as the love from which it 
springs is the lowest impelling, force of man's nature, 
and when these motives alone are called into action, a 
degraded standard of morality will result. 

Thus a man of low moral character will be prevented 
from committing crime by the fear of the physical 
consequences which an indignant community will 
visit upon him. A man of higher stamp will refrain 
from committing a dishonorable deed, even though the 
law could not reach him, because he loves the appro- 
bation of the world and fears to lose its good opinion 
and respect; but this same man may be induced to 

47 



48 



Moral Culture as a Science^ 



forsake an unpopular right, even against his better 
judgment, when to espouse it will bring upon him 
the censure or ridicule of the world or of his friends. 
Finally, love of honor and of self-respect, and fear of 
losing these, — fear of the adverse verdict of his own 
conscience, — will keep the man of high moral char- 
acter from wrong, and will impel him to do right, 
even against the opinions of others. 

The restrained criminal loves above all things life, 
liberty, physical comforts, and fears above all things 
their loss, to a less extent than that of the respect of 
his fellow-men. As a man rises in the moral scale, 
other things will become more valuable in his sight 
than these, such as the esteem and approbation of 
men, and he will often give up life itself to preserve 
these. Perhaps no other love is so widel}^ distributed 
and so widespread in its effects as this. From the 
cradle to the grave, man is swayed by the opinions of 
others, above all, by the desire that they may think 
well of him. Even the lowest criminal usually has 
some one whose good opinion he wishes to retain, 
whose praise he values, though this person is often 
only some other criminal greater and bolder than him- 
self, whose influence is not calculated to elevate him; 
or he may try to win the admiration of the multitude 
by appearing as a boastful hero to the last. 

The man of the highest moral character is he whose 
most valued possession is contained within himself, who 
above all things desires to have and to keep his own 
approbation and respect, and who is restrained from 
wrong-doing by the fear of losing these. This is not 
only the highest, but is also by far the most effectual. 



Love and Fear. 



49 



motive which can induce a man to do right. The 
criminal may hope to escape detection and the pun- 
ishment of the law; the man who seeks in the appro- 
bation of others his highest aim may yield to 
temptation if he knows no one will learn of it; but 
the man who dreads, above all things, the judgment 
which his own conscience will pronounce against him 
can never hope to escape or silence this searching in- 
quisitor, and so is more safe than any other man 
against temptation. 

Love and fear, then, as they exist in every individ- 
ual, should be perfected; their lower manifestations 
should be modified, and the higher motive should be 
added to them. This must be the aim in training a 
child. 

The love of approbation may be well used in the 
training of a child, to prevent wrong-doing before Con- 
science, Will, and Judgment are strong enough to be 
controlling forces. While the desire to be approved by 
others is not the highest incentive to do right, it is a 
higher one than mere physical fear, and has its right- 
ful place. Through this, a child may be led to do 
right, until it has learned to love right for itself. 

But love of approbation, which flows from vanity, 
needs to be carefully v/atched, lest it become an over- 
mastering passion, carrying all before it, and through 
fear of ridicule or the opinions of others lead to the 
commission of deeds which the conscience strongly 
condemns. 

¥/hen the approbation desired is that of a loved one, 
then it becomes the expression of a true affection, and 
proportionately a nobler feeling than that springing 



50 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



from vanity. This gives the person beloved a strong 
influence, which, if exerted in the direction of right, 
will be beneficial. It becomes dangerous when it is 
exerted for wrong, especially when the faculties are 
undeveloped, and may lead to evil, and even to the 
commission of crimes. History, fiction, and daily life 
are full of examples of wrong committed for the sake 
of retaining or gaining the love and approbation of a 
person, though everything else man values were sac- 
rificed. 

It is for this reason that the point cannot be too 
often repeated, too urgently insisted upon, that while 
strong, true, human love is one of the most beautiful 
as it is one of the most elevating of emotions, yet the 
love of right should be stronger and deeper than this; 
lest, if human love be greater, it become the control- 
ling force of a man, and leave him weak to cope with 
temptations which are reinforced by this love. 

Since love of right is so important in the production 
of a strong moral character, it must be the first aim of 
moral training to instill this love. 

To do this, it is important that the teacher himself 
shall love the right. Not only must he commit no 
immoral act, but he must at all times earnestly strive 
to become nobler and better. Only such a one can 
awaken in his pupils an earnest desire and love for 
right. The higher the teacher's moral standard, the 
higher the ideal to which he aspires, the further will 
he be able to lead his pupils on the road to noble man- 
hood and womanhood. No one of low moral concep- 
tions should ever be chosen as an instructor of youth. 

In order that a child may learn to love the right, 



Love and Fear, 



51 



this must constantly be brought before him in an ideal 
form as the most important thing to be sought after. 

Every child early forms an ideal which embodies all 
that it considers most desirable and worthy of admira- 
tion; and it is a precious gift to humanity that these 
first ideals are generally the parents. 

" This is true, for my mother says so"; " My father 
does it, so it is right"; even the little boy's direction 
to the barber, " Cut my hair like my papa's, with a 
hole in the middle," — are expressions of a beautiful, 
simple faith in the perfection of the parent, which 
happily is not always lost with childhood. 

When children go to school, quite another type of 
excellence is set up by their playmates for their ad- 
miration. "He is a brick, you bet! he never squeals"; 
or, " Mary is too smart to be found out when she plays 
with her paper dolls or writes notes," — these and simi- 
lar expressions may for the time exert a stronger influ- 
ence upon the child than the admonitions of the par- 
ents, who are supposed not to know how little boys and 
girls feel, nor what is best for them. 

The ideals that a child has, it copies, and so much 
of its character is formed; for every one resembles to 
a greater or a less extent his ideal. The boy who sees 
in a Gould or a Vanderbilt the highest type of man- 
hood will strive to make money by every means in 
his power when he arrives at man's estate. The boy 
or girl whose mind is inflamed by the exploits of a 
Roving Tom or a Prairie Nell will run away with a 
revolver or a knife, thinking to conquer the world. 
The girl whose brain is filled with the descriptions of 
the beauties of person and toilet of some heroine of 



52 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



fiction will deck herself out with ribbons or stand hours 
before the glass curling her hair, rolling her eyes, or 
trying to manage a "train" of her mother's skirts. Or 
where the parent, the teacher, or some esteemed friend 
is the ideal, some peculiarity of speech or manner may 
be the only thing copied, while real excellences of 
character may escape the observation or at least the 
intelligent perception of the child. 

An ideal worthy of being copied should therefore be 
presented to the child, and an impersonal rather than 
a personal one. To do this the teacher must first gain 
the confidence of each child and find out what its ideal 
is. He should enter into the child's thoughts, wliile 
he brings out, through judicious questioning or friendly 
suggestion, any defects he notices. Children are gen- 
erally open to conviction, and have generous impulses, 
and when once they have conceiA^ed the idea of the 
beauty of true, noble manhood and womanhood, of un- 
selfishness, kindness, truth, honor, honesty, self-respect, 
it will not be difficult to arouse in them a desire to 
attain these. To the highest conception of a perfect 
human being which the teacher brings before his pu- 
pils for imitation, he should give an impersonal name, 
"a man of honor," "a true woman," or "lady," might 
answer. Then he must lead the children to compare 
themselves w^ith this ideal, and criticise them or com- 
mend them as they deserve, when measured by this 
standard. 

Some such inspiring ideal the teacher must keep 
before his pupils, that it may grow upon them un- 
consciously and become their own. The faculty of 
imitation will then operate to develop the child into 



Love and Fear. 



63 



an image of this ideal. He who has formed the habit 
of comparing his words, thoughts, and deeds with those 
of a high ideal has nobility of character. 

One thing should be guarded against. Though a 
child learn to love virtue by seeing its beauty in 
others, yet the teacher should not let it try to be any 
one but itself. 

''Oh," cried a young girl, "if I could only be like 
my sister Alice, so gentle, so refined, so beautiful!" 

"You cannot be like Alice," replied the teacher, 
"nor is it desirable that you should be. You are 
Cora, and you must try to be just as good and lovely 
a girl in your way as Alice is in hers. The rose should 
not try to imitate the lily, for that is against its 
nature, and it would only deform itself without 
making a perfect lily; but it should try to be a 
perfect rose, for both are equally beautiful when per- 
fect. Now let us see how you can become, not an 
imperfect imitation of Alice, but a perfect Cora." 

This principle, that each child should fully develop 
its own character into the best of which it will admit, 
should never be lost sight of. The gentle, retiring 
child cannot be developed into a leader, any more than 
the enthusiastic and headstrong one can become a 
submissive follower, nor should either feat be at- 
tempted. But the former should be taught to love 
right more than his disposition to yield, and to stand 
firm on vital principles, though he yield all else; while 
the latter should be taught to curb all self-will when 
right is concerned, and while leading, to be sure, al- 
v^^ays, that he leads right; and he should learn to yield 
all minor points cheerfully to the wishes of others. In 



54 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



this way both may be perfected, their weak points 
strengthened, their faults corrected. The "personal 
equation" should never be neglected. 

It is for this reason that the ideal presented to the 
child should be an impersonal one. Should a Wash- 
ington or a Franklin be set up as an ideal, if the 
question were asked, " What would he do under the 
circumstances?" a thoughtful child might quite cor- 
rectly answer, "Yes, but Washington and Franklin 
were not like me, and they lived in a different time 
from mine. If they lived now, perhaps they would 
not do just as they did a hundred years ago." But an 
impersonal ideal adapts itself to the individual peculi- 
arities of each child; it is flexible, and can be altered, 
while a personal ideal is a rigid, unchanging one. 

Thousands of different plants may grow on the 
same soil, and each, by cultivation, be made perfect 
in its way; so thousands of different characters may 
each be perfectly developed on the ideal principle. 
From an impersonal ideal each would receive what he 
needs, while a personal one often would not fit into 
the circumstances. Washington, as an ideal, would 
not suit the timid little boy who is afraid of the 
" bully. " But he can be shown how " a man of honor, " 
even though as timorous as he, — which is no disgrace, 
but a fault to be corrected, — will overcome his weak- 
ness and bravely defend his principles. On the other 
hand, to the headstrong, violent boy is pointed out 
that "a man of honor" is he who "combines the 
strength of a man with the gentleness of a woman." 
He uses his strength of body and mind to help the 
weak when oppressed, and never to further his own 



Love and Fear. 



55 



selfish interests at the expense of others' well-being. 
The vain girl will see in "the true woman" that the 
beauty springing out of a kind and loving disposition is 
far more valuable and enduring than mere personal 
charms. The passionate, undisciplined one, in her 
"gentlewoman" will see the beauty and power of self- 
control. Thus each child will receive an ideal which 
suits its own individuality. 

The conception of right is as varied as that of 
the beautiful. If we could materialize the images of 
beauty, conceived by different minds, what varied 
forms we should see. Yet each would conform in part 
to the recognized laws of beauty. So if every person 
could give a distinct idea of what, in his mind, consti- 
tutes a perfect man or woman, what strange concep- 
tions would appear; yet in most of them some ap- 
proach, at least, to the recognized laws of moral 
perfection would be found. This ideal of each person 
is his own higher self. It should be developed and 
elevated, but not supplanted by that of another. 

In this connection, character-sketches illustrating 
such traits as in this or that child need developing 
are useful. Above all, true biographies of great men 
(not panegyrics upon impossible collections of virtues, 
unmixed with faults, and labeled with some illustrious 
name) will be found useful. A biography of Wash- 
ington should dwell not only upon his unfailing and 
steadfast courage and patriotic devotion to his coun- 
try, but should also mention his parsimony, his passion- 
ate temper, his natural haughtiness. Then the chil- 
dren should be made to see that part of his greatness 
consisted in governing these faults. He loved money, 



56 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



yet he asked for his long years of suffering and toil 
nothing but to have his own outlays refunded. He 
had a violent temper, but he controlled it so well 
that few knew of it. 

It should be strongly impressed upon the children 
that Washington, having these faults, yet controlling 
or suppressing them, was a far nobler man than he 
would have been had he not had them and had acted 
exactly as he did; that his generosity to his country 
showed a greater love for it, and was worthy of greater 
admiration, because he was not naturally generous; 
that his calm demeanor was more to be admired be- 
cause he was naturally so quick and imperious. 

So the child who is excessively fond of out-of-door 
sports deserves more credit for patient application to 
his lessons, than one to whom these lessons are the 
greatest pleasure. The headstrong child may show a 
greater strength of character in yielding, and so con- 
quering a very strong self, than in leading and conquer- 
ing only others who are weaker. The careless child is 
worthy of more praise when he attains great neatness, 
than the one who is naturally very precise and care- 
ful. The quick-tempered one exhibits greater virtue 
by curbing the tongue and restraining the angry 
deed and remaining calm, than one who, under the 
same circumstances, does not become equally excited. 
In this way ma}^ be developed in each child a love for 
right, and a desire to conquer its own individual faults 
and vices. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



CANT AND MORALIZING. 

Teachers are often asked to give model lessons in 
certain special lines to illustrate a superior method 
for the benefit of other teachers. In any other line 
of study this is perfectly proper; but in teaching 
ethics this should never, under any condition, be at- 
tempted. The elevating character of this science 
makes it sacred; therefore "show lessons," in which 
children would have to answer before listeners and 
critics, would tend to make the effect of the lesson just 
the opposite of that which it was intended to be. All 
work in this line must be natural and spontaneous; 
any tendency toward "showing off" would be deplor- 
able. In this work teachers will need to be ever on 
guard against two insidious enemies, — i.e., the habit 
of using cant phrases and that of moralizing. 

Cant is defined as "an empty, solemn speech, im- 
plying what is not felt." Cant phrases are often 
used, however, by persons who are sincere in their 
feelings, but who have grown careless, often ex- 
pressing their thoughts by using phrases which they 
hear from others. Teachers should carefully guard 
against using set expressions, which, through much 
repetition, may have "lost their savor." 

The new method of teaching patriotism, for instance, 
which was introduced into many schools during the 

57 



68 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



Columbus celebration a few years ago, has some sus- 
picious elements. 

On the school-grounds the children range them- 
selves in rows, raise the right hand towards the flag, 
and repeat in concert the following words: — 

^'I pledge allegiance to my flag and the republic 
for which it stands. One nation indivisible, with lib- 
erty and justice for all!" 

The children wriggle and squirm, sometimes they 
look around and giggle or laugh, while they babble 
these words, which have no meaning to them. 

The fundamental mistake is that we force children 
to make a pledge. When a soldier pledges his alle- 
giance to his flag and country, he stands ready to live 
and die for it. After that solemn oath is taken, he is 
held responsible for his word; if he break it, he is 
severely dealt with as a traitor. This pledge to the 
flag is given once in a lifetime; it is not repeated 
every morning. 

If "cant" is ''a solemn speech implying what is not 
felt," what must be our conclusion with regard to 
much of the patriotism which we "teach" ? 

Is not patriotism, after all, an essentially narrow 
virtue? The feeling of kinship with the peoples of the 
whole world which Miss Andrews hoped to awaken by 
her charming stories about the " Seven Little Sisters 
Who Lived on the Great Ball that Floats in the Air " 
and "Ten Boys Who Lived on the Road from Long 
Ago to Now," is certainl}^ a nobler one. 

In some conservative communities a stranger is 
treated with the most embarrassing suspicion until 
he has established his right to live by many proofs of 



Cant and Moralizing. 



59 



his integrity. Sometimes, in buildings of several 
rooms, teachers try to arouse enthusiasm among their 
pupils by unduly emphasizing the merits of our 
room," ''our record, " "our lines," etc. The narrow 
communitj^-feeling and the " room-pride " are only a 
little more restricted than the patriotism which says, 
"My country, right or wrong," instead of the true love 
of country which says with Lowell, " My country, may 
she ever be right I" All narrow pride creates pre- 
judice against whatever is without certain narrow 
limits, and this must work mischief in the end, as it 
is not in accord with the sympathy which we should 
have with all earnest endeavor. 

Cant phrases are sly foxes, and the defenses must 
be carefully watched lest they break through. Ruskin 
says that the child is wiser than the man, since he is 
the father of the man. So children often detect cant, 
where their elders, more accustomed to it, do not feel 
it. Let the teacher, therefore, guard against it, and 
steer any child inclined to use "words that are not 
felt" away from the shallov/s where rocks lurk, into 
the deep waters of genuine feehng. 

The other danger which threatens our work in ethics 
is the habit which many exacting elders have of cor- 
recting each offense by giving a set rule of action to 
prevent its repetition. The difference between teach- 
ing children moral principles and moralizing is this: 
Teaching fundamental moral principles at times 
when no offense has been committed gives the child 
resources which are instinctively drawn upon when 
they may be needed; the child thus becomes an inde- 
pendent judge of its own action. Moralizing, on the 



60 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



other hand, is essentially superficial, " applied from 
without, " and must be repeated after each offense. 

''Incidental teaching of ethics" is always in danger 
of being moralizing in tone, as the instruction is given 
only when a wrong has been committed and the child 
is expected to apply the lesson to its especial case. 
Sometimes the child is angry, and the lesson may 
do actual harm. In some cases, however, when a 
serious wrong has been committed, and the child is 
penitent, most effective help can be given, which is 
fundamental and lasting in character. Yet the dan- 
ger of moralizing always remains. Moreover, "inci- 
dental teaching " does not cover the ground. 

Those children who never happen to offend in school, 
though they may be quite as faulty outside of it, re- 
ceive no special instruction. May it be partly for this 
reason that this " perf ect-in-deportment class" often 
turn out so badly? They did not receive as careful 
instruction as their less well-behaved companions; 
yet for life they needed the training as well as the 
others. Perhaps, on account of a certain pliability of 
nature, a tendency to priggishness, and a habit of 
judging others in a pharisaical spirit, they may really 
have needed this training more than their willful, 
restless, yet generous companions, who were con- 
stantly offending. 

There is a vast difference, then, between moral- 
izing and most incidental teaching, and teaching 
fundamental principles which apply themselves to all 
the varied exigencies of life. 



J) art l)econlr. 



CHAPTER I. 
THE PERSONAL VIRTUES. 

Control of the Self, — of the appetites of the body, 
the desires of the mind, the emotions and their ex- 
pressions; of the exercise of the faculties of imitation 
and habit, of the imagination, aye, of reason itself, — 
this is the noble function of the Will, which is the ex- 
pression of the ego. Self-control, then, consists of an 
education and development of the powers of the Will, in 
the direction indicated by the judgment, and results in 
the quality of mind which is called firmness. As 
this control or government of the self is the great 
function of the Will, parents and teachers must exer- 
cise great care, lest, through their measures to control 
the child, they weaken this power. 

A great deal of self-control is natural, and is exer- 
cised by every person. As a young child develops, its 
faculties, one after another, from the lowest upward, 
are taken under the control of the central nervous 
system; indeed, they are not faculties until they are 
under such control. Purposeless and seemingly aim- 
less muscular movements become defined and co- 
ordinated. The fist, which at first wanders all over 
the face in its attempt to reach the mouth, soon finds 
it with unerring precision. Then the little hands 
learn to clasp outside objects and carry them to that 
one final goal of a young baby's every manual move- 
ment, the mouth. But after a time it learns that 

61 



62 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



some substances are bitter and acrid, some objects 
hard and rough, and a higher center interposes to for- 
bid or inhibit the baby habit, in order to prevent a 
repetition of the unpleasant sensation which has been 
so produced. Again, the child's cry may be restrained 
or inhibited by the sight of a shining object. When 
a child burns his hand he instantly withdraws it from 
the dangerous neighborhood. That movement is 
caused through a reflex center in the spinal cord. At 
the same time the sensation of pain is transmitted 
to the brain, and the higher centers, acting together, 
produce a cry. As the child grows older, a controlUng 
power is brought into play, and the cry is restrained 
or inhibited. With advancing age, new faculties are 
constantly being brought under these " controlling 
centers, both positive and negative. 

The boy or girl applies himself or herself to a dis- 
agreeable task, in order to accomphsh a certain pur- 
pose, or for love of some person, or from self-respect, 
refrains from performing certain acts which are known 
to be wrong. 

As the individual advances towards adult life, as 
his judgment and reasoning faculties become developed, 
his desire for complete control of self increases. He 
denies his appetite, that he may use his money for 
more useful purposes; or his love of pleasure, that he 
may devote his time to the acquisition of knowledge. 
Love may teach him to forego pleasures for the sake 
of benefiting others, and ambition, vanity, or love of 
right may cause him to take his desires more and 
more completely under his control. 

He learns to repress the expressions of his emotions 



The Personal Virtues. 



63 



(again the exhibition of a restraining or inhibiting 
power); anger, pain, or disappointment are borne 
Avithout outward sign. 

As he rises still higher in the moral scale, as his 
will assumes still more perfectly its proper place, he 
controls not only the outward manifestations of the 
emotions, but harbors only such as are sanctioned by 
judgment and conscience, — only such as he considers 
right and honorable. Thus he not only shows no im- 
patience over the vexations of life, but he inhibits even 
the feeling of this impatience. 

Deliberate and necessary self-control is exercised in 
avoiding the imitation of acts which the judgment 
does not approve, and in preventing the formation of 
undesirable habits. The highest power of the Will is 
called into activity in the control of the faculties of 
Imagination and Reason, holding the one rigidly in 
check, and not allowing it to range in directions or 
dwell upon subjects considered harmful, and forcing 
the other to continuous application in any given direc- 
tion, when it is so desired. This control of the Imagi- 
nation and Reason constitutes the power of application, 
and is absolutely necessary for the performance of any 
mental or moral work of a high grade. Especially is 
control of the imagination necessary if purity of 
thought and action is to be maintained. 

The higher the faculty controlled and the more 
complete the control, the higher must be the quality of 
the judgment and the will by which this control is 
exercised. In general, the restraining or inhibiting 
powers are the highest, and the last to develop. As a 
rule, the natural, uncontrolled tendency is toward action 



64 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



of some sort, though often in the wrong direction. 
The centers restraining or inhibiting this action are 
therefore higher than those producing it. This in- 
hibiting power is usually, also, the first to be lost under 
great mental strain, and we have the excitement and 
restlessness of nervous prostration and of hysteria. 

To recapitulate: The station of the ruled deter- 
mines the position of the ruler. The nerve-center 
which causes a child to withdraw its hand from a hot 
stove is lower than that which causes him to suppress 
the cry of pain. This is lower than that through 
which he resolutely sets himself to suppress the out- 
ward manifestation of some emotion, as hatred or im- 
patience. Higher yet is the control of the thoughts, 
which permits neither imagination nor any other fac- 
ulty to run riot, but holds all under the guidance of 
an educated judgment and the control of a strong will. 

That this higher stage may be reached, the lowest 
must not be neglected. It is as impossible for a man to 
exercise the highest forms of self-control and be in- 
capable of the lower, as it is for him to solve a problem 
in trigonometry and be ignorant of the first principles 
of geometry. 

This power of self-control is such a fundamental 
requirement for man's development in ever}" direction, 
that the necessity of carefully training and fostering 
it in the young will be denied by no one who has 
given the subject any serious consideration. 

Goethe writes, "Teach self-control, whatever else 
you neglect"; and no one looked with clearer insight 
into the necessities of life than he. 

What is the object of all child-training? Is it not 



The Personal Virtues. 



65 



to enable the child the better to withstand the trials and 
temptations of life without being swamped by them, — 
without losing manhood and self-respect in the 
''struggle for existence"? And is not self-indulgence 
the stagnant slough which swallows up so many prom- 
ising lives? When we think of the lives wrecked by 
gluttony, intemperance, indolence, unchastity, we may 
well repeat Goethe's words, '' Teach self-control, what- 
ever else you neglect." 

Unyielding self-control is always recognized as an 
element of strength. When the young Roman Mucins 
had made an unsuccessful attempt upon the life of the 
Etruscan king, Porsena, who was besieging Rome, he 
was to be tortured to force him to disclose the names 
of his confederates. Instantly he laid his right hand 
upon a bed of coals near-by to show his fortitude. 
Porsena was so impressed with the strength of char- 
acter which this self-control and courage indicated, 
that he sent the young man back to his countrymen, 
and soon after made peace with an enemy that num- 
bered such brave men among its citizens. 

Self-control produces firmness of character, but ob- 
stinacy is a different thing, and must never be mis- 
taken for it. Parents often fall into the error of look- 
ing upon the obstinate resistance of a child as a mark 
of its strength of character, and frequently commit 
the still graver error of commenting upon this 
"strong will," in the presence of a child, with an air 
of complacence and resignation to the inevitable, and 
with a secret, but not secreted, feeling of pride in the 
ungovernable character of their spoiled pet. 

While obstinacy does sometimes, but by no means 



66 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



always, indicate a strong will, it is a degeneration, 
therefore a weakness. Nothing so much interferes 
with the proper education of a child, both mentally 
and morally, as this obstinate, unteachable spirit. In 
later life it causes great unhappiness, both to the ob- 
stinate man himself and to his surroundings, and 
gives in return no satisfaction whatever to any one, — 
neither in its victory, which is accompanied by a deep 
inner sense of wrong done, nor in its defeat. 

Obstinacy consists of an adherence to ideas or reso- 
lutions, merely because they have been formed or 
taken without listening to the dictates of reason or 
judgment. The obstinate person refuses to yield his 
position because that might be construed as weak- 
ness; yet this fear itself is an element of weakness. 
He holds his opinion tenaciously, fearing that rea- 
son will take away its foundation; or, again, he 
sticks to his expressed beliefs or intentions for no 
other reason than that he, forsooth, has expressed 
them. 

Now, this is far from real firmness, — real strength of 
will. Firmness is based upon judgment; obstinacy 
stands against it. Firmness courts conviction, and 
desires to stand upon the truth only; obstinacy is not 
open to conviction. Firmness stands unwavering on 
principles, and yields minor points; obstinacy stands 
on minor points, and yields principles. 

Self-control includes or produces many of the 
traits of character which man esteems most highly in 
himself and others. Among these are Self-denial, 
Moderation, — moderation in all things, even in mod- 
eration itself; Industry and Application, without 



The Personal Virtues. 



67 



which there is no progress; Patience and Cheerfulness, 
a control of the emotions of impatience and anger; 
Courage, the control of fear, — fear of every kind, — 
physical, mental, and moral. 

Courage is not synonymous with fearlessness. The 
former consists of a true control, even to suppression, 
of the emotion of fear; the latter, of an entire ab- 
sense of that emotion. Unconsciously, every one pays 
a tribute of honor and respect to the man, no matter 
what his station in life, who shows his self-respect by 
perfect self-control. 



CHAPTER II. 



HOW TO TEACH THE PERSONAL VIRTUES. 

As in all instruction it is necessary to reason from 
the known to the unknown, so this process must be 
followed in moral instruction. It will do no good 
to harangue the child on the necessity of controlling 
himself, but he must be made to see that his powers 
are of use only as they are controlled. 

One or more lessons may be profitably spent by the 
pupils in merel}^ bringing up examples of power which 
are useful under control, and harmful when they break 
away from it. The fiery horse, the engine in motion 
steam, water, electricity, fire, — how useful, even how 
absolutely necessary to life, are these, yet how destruc- 
tive are they when they escape from control. 

Then illustrations nearer home may be used. The 
hand in which every muscle is under control forms 
beautiful letters, or draws pictures pleasing to the eye. 
Another hand, not so well controlled, makes " pot- 
hooks " and daubs. The success of a pitcher in a game 
of baseball depends upon the perfect control he has 
over the muscles of his hand and arm, each acting 
just exactly as he desires, and at the instant when his 
will commands. This enables him to give just such 
direction and curves to the flight of his ball as he 
thinks best. But if, at the moment of his throwing 
the ball, one or the other of his muscles slips out from 
his control, and refuses to obey, the result is a failure. 

68 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 69 

So it is with the Will. A person who has no will 
does what others will that he should do. He is like a 
leaf blown about by the wind. But a person who has 
a will, and uses it as he should, does what his judg- 
ment teaches him is right, and is like an oak tree that 
stands firm against the strongest wind. 

The controlling faculty of the mind is the Will, 
and without it the others can do little or noth- 
ing. This must be made clear to the children. How 
many times did not the judgment tell them what 
was right, the conscience draw them towards right? 
They really intended to do right; but they did wrong, 
nevertheless. Why was it ? Because some playmate 
wanted them to do wrong, and the will of the playmate 
was stronger than their own? or because they expected 
to have pleasure out of their wrong, and the desire for 
pleasure was stronger than their will? Sometimes 
men, women, or children do wrong because they are 
afraid some one will laugh at them if the}^ do right. 
In that case fear is stronger than the will. From such 
illustrations which the teacher may give, and others 
which the children will relate, the latter can readily 
be made to understand that it is very important that 
every one have a strong will, if he wants to be able to 
do what he thinks best. 

To make anything strong, it must be exercised, and 
so it is with the will. The will should govern the 
person, his body and his mind. The children can 
then be shown how, to a certain extent, the body is 
always governed by the will. They will to raise their 
hands, and the muscles raise it; they will to stand up 
or to sit down, to walk, to run, to play, and the body 



70 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



obeys the will. They thus learn that the body is sub- 
ject to the will, and that every person has in this 
wonderful and complex body of his an efficient servant, 
always ready, when properly trained, to do the bidding 
of the will. 

Draw the child's attention to the fact that his mus- 
cular system and all his senses are ser\H.ng him. With 
his hand he grasps the object he wants; his feet carry 
him wherever he desires to go; his ears hear for him; 
his eyes see for him. The body, then, is the servant 
of the will, and all servants must obey. 

If a man has a coachman to take care of his horses, 
the coachman would be the man's servant. Suppose, 
on some occasion, the man told the servant to take 
care of the horses, and the coachman replied, ''No; I 
do not want to do that now, for I am reading a pleasant 
book which I want to finish." Of course the man 
would say, " While you are my servant you must obey 
me; go and do as you are told." 

But many people allow the body-servants which 
they have to become disobedient. The boy may 
want to study his lesson, he wishes to stand high in 
his class and bring home a good report, but his eyes 
want to watch the boy across the aisle, who is draw- 
ing pictures on his slate, or thej want to look out of 
the window, where they can see the birds flying about. 
Now, his Will keeps telling those eyes, Turn to 
the book now." His Judgment says, " You will not 
know the lesson this afternoon if you do not study." 
But the eyes, the disobedient servants, do not obey. 
Now the boy must do as the man would do, — make 
the servants obey his will. 



Solo to Teach the Personal Virtues. 



71 



So with the hands. Many a boy does not want 
them to play; he does not intend to make any noise; 
he wishes to study; but his disobedient hands do it 
against the orders of his own will. What a poor, in- 
competent master that boy's will is, to let his servants 
do just as they please! 

It will be a good plan, in order to interest the chil- 
dren in this right of the Will to control the body, to 
let them spend some time in learning and thinking 
about making their hands and feet, their eyes and ears, 
obey them. The exercise will be useful by drawing 
their attention to the subject; for if a child only 
learns to think of acting according to the will, even 
though he breaks his resolution, it is better than act- 
ing on a blind, unreasoning impulse. As the child's 
desire for control, and admiration for the person who 
possesses it, grows, he himself will gradually acquire it. 

These lessons can be introduced in so tactful a man- 
ner, and be made so attractive, that even those un- 
fortunate children who. are possessed of an obstinate, 
unteachable spirit, and who usually fight shy of 
everything savoring of a moral lesson, are interested 
in their servants, and in the exercises to bring them 
under the will, before they know it, and without at 
first realizing the drift of the lesson. Once their in- 
terest is aroused, there will be no further difficulty. 

One thing should be remembered. Such lessons 
must never be made personal. The instruction and 
the exercises should be general, and not as if called 
out by any one particular misdemeanor. This is apt 
to arouse opposition, especially in a naturally obsti- 
nate child. 



72 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



After the child has become interested in enforcing 
obedience from his bodily " servants," he can be taught 
that he has yet other faculties, even more important, 
which also need to be brought under control, so that 
they, too, like well-trained servants shall do exactly 
as he bids them. 

Childi en know that the pov^^er which thinks is called 
the Mind. But as the body has in it organs which have 
different functions, — the eye for seeing, the ear for hear- 
ing, the hand for many purposes, the lower limbs for 
moving the body from place to place, — so in the mind 
there are different faculties for different purposes. 

One faculty of the mind is that of study, which is 
used in thinking hard over a lesson or in tr}dng to 
solve a problem. The child that leans his head on 
his hand, and thinks with all his might to learn a 
way of solving a perplexing problem in arithmetic, is 
using this power. 

Another faculty of the mind is the power of feeling. 
A person feels love for his friends, or anger at some 
one's unkindness, or impatience because he must 
wait. He need not think much about these things, 
but he feels them without thinking. 

Still another faculty is that of making believe," 
or " supposing." Every one at times " supposes " 
things that are not really true, and this faculty of 
" supposing " is called Imagination. Boys and girls 
imagine what they will do when they go to the beach 
next summer, or they imagine what a pleasant time 
their friends in the country are having now. Often 
they may sit for hours imagining what they will do 
when they are men and women, and perhaps so forget 
that they have something to do now. 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 73 



These faculties must be introduced, as it were, to the 
child, and introduced to him as new, or rather as other, 
servants, and servants that need to be trained and 
controlled, as well as those previously spoken about. 
Thus the faculty of study, which is called Reason, 
must be ready to obey, and go to work when the child 
wants and needs it, or it is of no use; and it must 
also stay at work until it has accomplished its task, 
or until the honest judgment sets it free. The child 
or man that has an obedient reason is the one that 
can always think out difficult problems, study lessons, 
— in short, do what the servant is there to do. 

Then the feelings. There are very many of these, 
and they make life happy or unhappy, according to 
the kind which is allowed to grow and the kind which 
is suppressed. The child that suppresses and con- 
trols such feelings as anger, impatience, envy, and 
jealousy will naturally train such other feelings as 
love, kindness, patience, and generosity. Now, which 
are the better? Which kind will you have? Is it better 
to control the feelings, and have just such as you think 
you want? or is it better to let them come haphazard, 
and pay no attention to who your servants are and 
what they are doing? 

Above all, the Imagination must be watched. On 
questioning, every child will remember occasions when 
he allowed his imagination full sweep. (The teacher 
must not seek for the faults of the Imagination, but 
merely for occasions where it was used.) This boy 
made up a story for his composition; that girl wrote 
a little history of a conversation between a bee and a 
flower. Both were not true, but both were the pro- 
duct of the Imagination. 



74 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



Children enjoy using this faculty as we always en- 
joy using good, faithful, and obedient servants. Now, 
the Imagination is sometimes like a wild horse; it 
likes to run away. When it runs away without sense 
or reason, — as when a hoy lies abed in the morning 
and thinks and thinks what he would do and have if 
he had a house full of money, and Aladdin's wonder- 
ful lamp too, and what good times he would have 
floating around on the beautiful lakes in golden canoes, 
and all such stuff, — when the Imagination goes off 
into any region where sense and reason cannot follow 
it, then it is no longer called Imagination, but phan- 
tasy, and the difference between the two is this: Ima- 
gination does as it is told, goes where it is sent, comes 
back when it is called, and is always sensible and rea- 
sonable; it is man's servant. But phantasy goes 
where it pleases, staj^s as long as it wants to, has 
neither sense nor reason, and is man's master; and a 
very bad master too. This kind of an imagination 
is called day-dreaming, and children can be made 
to see that the child or man who does not control his 
imagination, but lets it run off with him, amounts to 
very little. He never studies his lessons, he never 
knows what is going on around him, and unless he 
learns to control his imagination he will never amount 
to anything. Nearly every child can call to mind 
examples of such people. 

Sometimes the imagination wants to dwell on 
things that are not clean and pure, — things that the 
child or man would not be willing to tell others 
about, or would be ashamed to have it known that 
he thought of them. Now, such things are unclean, 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 75 

and everything that is unclean makes unclean what- 
ever it touches. Let the least bit of soot come on 
your hand, — yoni may not know it, and touch your 
face with it, — there is a dirty streak; you touch the 
other hand, — there is another; you put the finger on 
the white paint, and it leaves a black imprint, and 
then upon a clean white dress, and it too is soiled. In 
time the soot which is only put on from the outside 
wears off, but the moral dirt, which comes from the 
inside of a person's mind, cannot wear off, and only 
disappears when he himself constantly keeps his 
moral face and hands clean, so to speak, — i.e., when 
he allows nothing impure or coarse to remain in his 
mind or imagination. 

All these faculties, then, are servants, just as the 
bodily faculties are, and it is the business of the judg- 
ment to see that they know what to do, and of the 
will to force them to do it. The attention of the chil- 
dren should be called to the fact that it is a fine thing 
to have a will strong enough and a judgment wise 
enough to control such very high and remarkable 
faculties. 

Imitation and Habit are two other important fac- 
ulties to which the children's attention needs to be 
directed. They should be led to notice, more than 
they probably have, how often every one is uncon- 
sciously impelled to imitate the action of others. 
When one person yawns, every one else does the 
same, or feels the impulse to do it. The one who 
speaks pleasantly will receive a pleasant answer, and the 
one who speaks unpleasantly, an unpleasant one. We 
constantly find ourselves saying and doing things as 



76 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



others do them. One child copies from another, — par- 
ticularly if he admires him, — and children often do 
wrong merely because some one else did it. But thej^ 
— and adults as well — often also do right merely 
because some one else did. Thus one newsboy in an 
Eastern city saved several people from drowning, and 
was written about a good deal in the papers. In con- 
sequence of that, boys in other places strayed along 
the river banks, watching to save people's lives, and 
in a number of cases did so. This was merely imita- 
tion, but it was of a good kind. 

Every one has imitated both good and bad actions 
in his life, and teacher and pupil might record manj' 
instances of this in their observations of others. Here 
again it is best not to let them tell what the nature of 
the act copied was, whether good or bad. Merely to 
notice the act of imitation is sufficient. 

So with Habits. The teacher should direct the 
minds of the children towards an observation of these, 

the facilit}^ with which they are formed and the 
difficulty with which they are broken off. The 
children should enumerate the habits they approve of, 
and why. In this connection the teacher can do much 
by encouraging the imitation of desirable traits of 
character or of noble deeds. This habit of discrimi- 
nation can be developed into a most useful and desir- 
able one. 

Teachers must not expect to influence their pupils at 
once. If, at first, the children's minds are mereh^ directed 
towards observing with intelligence, an immense step 
has been taken, for the blind, unreasoning following 
of impulse is one of the greatest bars to a high moral- 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 77 

ity. When the children have become acquainted 
with the general tendencies of human nature, little by 
little they themselves will see the special tendencies, 
the weaknesses, and the strong points of their own 
nature; and having learned how to correct or encourage 
these, having clear-cut, well-defined moral knowledge, 
their unconscious natural tendency will be to suppress 
the faults and cultivate the virtues. 

In this connection it is not necessary, perhaps 
scarcely desirable, that too great an enthusiasm for 
reform be awakened in the children. Enthusiasm 
founded on emotion too often is followed by reaction. 
Too much is attempted at once; and as almost certain 
failure follows, the enthusiasm becomes dampened, 
and nothing is left. Much more certain is it, as has 
been said before, to awaken an intelligent desire for 
improvement. This will grow naturally out of the 
intellectual knowledge gained. 

In the higher grades the children will take up the 
different qualities springing from self-control, and 
study them carefully. One of the most prominent 
among these is — 

Moderation. In beginning the study of this, the 
children should first be asked to look up the meaning 
of the word, and compare it with others of similar in- 
tent. Then they should learn how it is applied to the 
actions of men. Why is moderation a desirable 
quahty? Why is it always undesirable to go to ex- 
tremes? Are there any occasions when it seems advis- 
able to go to an extreme? Even then, if the action is 
governed and controlled by reason, is it not moderated? 
Does loss of self-control weaken a person's influence 
with himself and others, or does it not? 



78 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



When the matter is carefully considered, when 
known examples from real life and from history are 
cited, it will be generally conceded that the person 
who is moderate in his views and in their expression, 
who does not go into extremes or " fly off the handle," 
is the one who receives the respect and confidence of his 
fellow-men. Moderation is like the fly-wheel of an en- 
gine, regulating the application of the force, which it 
also increases. Thus brought before them, all will 
accept moderation as a desirable trait of character. 

Moderation, as it exists in men and women, is of 
two kinds: that of the man who never is tempted to 
depart from the even tenor of his way, and who never 
is roused to strong, deep feelings on any subject; and 
that which is due to self-control, beneath which may 
exist the deepest, most intense feeling. Pupils should 
be asked to give examples of these two different kinds 
of moderation in the characters of history and fiction 
as far as they know them, and they may be allowed 
to mention the number of people among their acquaint- 
ances who possess one or the other of them. They 
should not be permitted to mention names, nor in any 
way become personal. They should be warned against 
this even among themselves, as nothing is easier than 
making mistakes in judging of the characters of others. 
A wise and moderate man will be slow to make up his 
mind, and while he thinks that he is right, he reserves 
his judgment until doubt is no longer possible. 

In examining into the nature of these two kinds of 
moderation, we find that the first is no moderation at 
all, for moderation means to " lessen," " repress," 

reduce from a state of violence." Where there is 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 79 



no feeling to reduce or lessen, there can be no mod- 
eration. Such calmness of demeanor results from a 
phlegmatic temperament, but does not, as a rule, carry 
with it the weight and sense of reserve power which 
accompanies the forceful moderation of strong feeling 
or excitement. It is no misfortune, but rather the 
opposite, therefore, to be born with a tendency to great 
intensity of feeling, if only this is kept within bounds. 
By means of literature and suggestions the pupils can 
be made to think of this matter frequently, to admire 
the moderation possessed by great men, and to desire 
it for themselves. 

Industry and Application. The value of these, 
like that of moderation, must be discussed, illustrated 
by practical examples and literary selections, and its 
necessity for the future moral, mental, and physical 
prosperity emphasized. Manual training, when it 
shall be introduced into all schools, will do much 
towards increasing both these qualities among school 
children. 

Patience and Cheerfulness. These two generally 
go together, and rest upon moderation and courage. 
They should be encouraged, like the others, by means 
of questions, suggestions, literary selections, and 
thought. Few persons fully realize the beauty and at- 
tractiveness of a bright, ever cheerful disposition, 
which clears away the clouds of impatience and brings 
sunshine to every one. This is a virtue which, with 
patience in annoyance or vexation, cannot be too care- 
*fully cultivated. 

Cheerfulness and Patience are rarely found with a 
bad conscience. The cheerful person is generally the 



80 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



one who does his duty to the best of his knowledge 
and abihty, even though it is disagreeable. If chil- 
dren will recall when they themselves have been most 
cheerful, they will find that it was when they had the 
pleasing consciousness of a duty well done, — a kind 
or unselfish act performed. And when are they 
"cross"? When they have neglected their duty or 
have done what they knew was wrong. At such a 
time the conscience reproves them, and this uncom- 
fortable feeling they vent upon their surroundings. 

Cheerfulness is also largely a matter of habit and of 
manner. Even the smallest children in school can 
learn to cultivate a pleasant voice and a cheerful 
manner. It is surprising how quickly the outward 
manner will penetrate into the inner spirit. Older 
pupils should also have their attention drawn to this 
matter, and be encouraged always to be pleasant and 
cheerful in their daily intercourse with others, and es- 
pecially in the home life, lest they fall into the 
grave fault of cheerfulness with the outside world and 
a morose manner at home. This is simply one form 
of hypocrisy. 

CouEAGE. Much can be said about Courage, the 
control of the sense of fear. As has been said before, 
courage is not synonymous with fearlessness, or absence 
of fear, but consists of an active control of a real emo- 
tion of fear, and of a base fear which needs to be 
conquered or suppressed, — a fear which, if allowec? Zo 
sway the actions of a man, would lead him to do 
wrong. This should be impressed upon the pupils. # 

As before, the children should give their ideas of 
courage and relate examples. At first, or among the 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 81 



younger children, examples of physical courage only 
will probably be related. The older or more thought- 
ful ones will tell instances of moral courage, — individ- 
uals daring to do right, even though ridicule, con- 
tempt, loss of wealth and position, followed. Com- 
paratively few, especially among the young, realize 
how much courage is needed in daily life if a man is 
to retain his individuality and his integrity. Yet 
how rare is the man who has " the courage of his 
convictions." 

In school, children should learn to hold their 
opinions fairly, modestly, yet unwaveringly, until con- 
vinced of their error; and when so convinced, — when 
they find they are wrong, — unhesitatingly yield them 
and adopt those they have reason to believe correct. 
But the convincing power must be reason, not deference 
to position or authority. No action is farther re- 
moved from courage than that of the man who is 
afraid to confess his error lest it be construed as 
weakness. This needs to be constantly impressed 
upon children. 

Temperance. Temperance, like the other virtues, 
should be spoken about, its bearings discussed, the 
best means of attaining and keeping it considered. 
Literature describing the evil effects of alcohol and 
the revolting aspects of the vice of intemperance is 
plentiful, temperance being almost the only virtue 
which has an abundant literature of its own, and 
which is generally and widely praised and recom- 
mended. 

Where a systematic course of training in general 
self-control is carried out at home and in school, no 



82 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



special danger need be apprehended from the source 
of intemperance. This only becomes dangerous when 
the child is incapable of controlling his appetites. 

The question whether total abstinence should be or 
should not be advocated in the public schools cannot 
be discussed here. One thing is certain: the child 
that has learned thoroughly to control and deny his 
appetites will also control this one. A child will 
never become a drunkard if the lesson of self-control 
has been thoroughly taught. 

This does not mean that parents and teachers who 
believe in total abstinence should not urge it upon the 
children intrusted to their care; only, they should not 
depend solely upon a pledge which may prove but a 
weak defense against the pleadings of an appetite; 
they should rather build strong and well the power of 
self-denial and self-control, to give force to the pledge 
and make it what it is fondly, but only too often falla- 
ciously, hoped to be: a tower of strength. 

Some persons believe that intemperance is very in- 
frequent in childhood, and that, therefore, the child 
rarely or never needs to be cautioned against it. This 
is a double fallacy. 

First, the child needs to be cautioned against those 
faults which may prove dangerous to it in later life. 
Second, the child itself is often the victim of intem- 
perance. True, this intemperance is not in the use 
of intoxicants, but a no less overmastering passion 
with many is the appetite for sweetmeats, or for to- 
bacco, in the case of boys, which prepares the way for 
the more degrading intemperance in the use of alco- 
holic liquors. 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 83 

After Sunday school, little children swarm into the 
candy-store, to spend the money given them for the 
contribution-box, for candy. This is a common fact, 
for which the candy dealer prepares. It is unneces- 
sary to comment upon the danger in which these chil- 
dren are. Later, sweets pall upon them, and they re- 
sort to stronger indulgences. 

The system of school savings banks, which is now 
being introduced, may perhaps prove of use in teach- 
ing children economy, but here great care needs to be 
exercised, lest in correcting one fault another and greater 
be produced. It is unnatural for a child to hoard 
money too carefully. If he learns business habits 
and economy through the bank, care should be taken 
that he do not also learn miserliness and avarice. 
On the whole it is much better that a child carry 
spending-money of his own in his pocket, and then 
learn not to spend it for useless or unnecessary things, 
but to use it freely for that which will really benefit 
himself and others. 

Purity. The subject of purity is a very delicate 
one to present to children, yet one that must not be 
neglected. In speaking to them in regard to this sub- 
ject, it is well to have the sexes separated. Usually it 
is better to speak to individual children. Often, how- 
ever, groups of children who live near each other, and 
walk to and from school together, fall into the habit 
of " teasing " each other, and of discussing impure 
subjects. If the teacher will carefully watch the 
children, she will detect those who would be benefited 
by a personal talk, as impurity soon stamps itself 
upon the child's face. 



84 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



An earnest teacher may do much to help children, 
as mothers often are " ashamed " to speak plainly and 
simply without hesitation or embarrassment. The 
mystery which surrounds the simple biological facts of 
life is one of the strongest factors in impurity of thought. 

Whatever the children may have learned of these 
facts is usually associated with impure matters. Now, 
if the teacher strips off all these associations, shows 
the child the reasonableness, aye the absolute neces- 
sity, of each plant and each animal reproducing its 
kind, the matter begins to look very different to the 
child. If this desire had not been placed in the nature 
of all living things, the earth would be a desert. There 
would be no trees to give shade or fruits, no grains, 
no flowers, no animals. A sorry place this great earth 
would be with no living thing upon it. 

When the child has grasped the idea that it is all 
natural, and therefore pure, then the danger of an im- 
pure childhood should be pointed out. 

If we tear a little green rosebud open to make it 
blossom sooner, we see no resemblance in this distorted 
thing to the beautiful flower which it would have been, 
had we left it to unfold naturally. If we pick apples 
off the tree, which are no bigger than cherries, they 
will not taste like apples. So children must leave all 
thoughts of their " blossoming-time " to the years of 
manhood and womanhood, vs^here they belong. 

The horrible unhappiness, the disease, the insanity, 
and the shame of it all should be impressed upon them. 

If small children are guilty of using impure language, 
they should carefully wash and rinse the mouth from 
which the dirty words came, so that they may feel 



How to Teach the Personal Virtues. 



85 



that their mouth is clean again. We speak of a per- 
son given to using bad language as " foul-mouthed." 
This expresses the popular feeling in regard to the use 
of bad language. 

The vice of impurity can be illustrated by showing 
a child an apple which is sound from without, but is 
decayed within. Apparently, the apple is good, but if 
we feel it or smell it, we recognize its condition: it is 
rotten at the core. 

So the impure person may seem pleasant at first, 
but as we make his acquaintance we find that he is 
disgusting. Impurity penetrates into the very core of 
the nature and eats away its sweetness, its truth, its 
honor, and its happiness, leaving only rottenness. 

Many parents, older members of the family, too 
often even teachers, have the pernicious habit of di- 
recting the child's attention to the sexual relations by 
constant bantering or " teasing," and frequent allu- 
sions to "love-making," " courting," " flirting," even 
— with regret it is said — that worst of vulgar slang, 
"mashing," until mind and imagination of the child 
are filled with this subject. What wonder that the 
child's thoughts travel in the forbidden and myste- 
riously dark path, the gate to which is so invitingly 
set open by those who should know better. Then, 
when the natural fruit appears, which such training 
must eventually bear, parents and teachers are 
greatly surprised at the immorality of the young, 
and do not reflect that they themselves, by their 
thoughtless conversation bordering on the impure, 
very often started the little soul on its downward 
course, and left it a victim to the natural tendencies 
which they have prematurely awakened. 



86 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



An impure mind may be likened to a cellar hill 
of loul-smelling debris and crawling things from 
which odors arise into the house above. The windows 
of this dark place are covered with cobwebs and the 
stones underfoot are slimy and dark. But let a neat 
housewife with her helpers come into the place with 
brush and broom, soap and water, and open up the 
T\'indows and the doors to let in the winds of heaven 
and the bright sunshine. Soon the place is cleared 
and scrubbed, the smooth gray stones appear, the 
windows shine, the walls are clean and white as pure 
lime can make them. All bad odors are gone, and the 
vile place has become a pleasure to look upon. 

This illustration is easily understood, and it often 
arouses a child to undertake the warfare against vile- 
ness within himself. At first he may need to have 
just such a clarin'-out time"; afterwards he will 
have to watch closely every tendency toward the old 
condition. 

A transformation has sometimes been worked in the 
mind of a child in a few months by an earnest teacher. 
If we guard children against this vice as against a 
pestilence, and arouse in them desire to keep their 
birthright, clean hands, a pure heart, a good con- 
science, and an eye which can look the whole world 
in the face honestly and firmly, we have blessed them 
with a power which will help them to rise above all 
difficulties. 

I gave my son a temple, 
And a kingdom to control, — 

The temple of his body, 

And the kingdom of his soul." 

— JvLLA. Ward Howe. 



CHAPTER III, 



THE IDEAL VIRTUES. 

The truest and best men and women are those who 
are either consciously or unconsciously obeying the 
old command, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God 
with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all 
thy strength, and with all thy mind, and thy neighboi 
as thyself." 

To love God in this way means also to love the 
spirit of God, Truth and Right; to love these above 
one's own life, and even above the life and happiness 
of those who are nearest and dearest. This love for 
the Ideal Good is the first and greatest law of our 
ethics at the present time. 

What, then, is Truth? What is Right? 

Truth is the law upon which the universe is built; 
it is the wisdom of God. No human mind will ever 
grasp it. We see only a small part of it at a time. 
Many fragments have been gathered together slowly 
by succeeding generations of men. Such fragments of 
Truth are called truths. There is mental, moral, and 
physical truth. Moral truth is Right. 

Truth is always passive; it never forces itself upon 
the mind. It is, and that is all. The human mind 
must seek it, must quarry it, as it were, must formu- 
late the underlying truths or laws from the superficial 
truths or phenomena. 

Error is misconception of a truth, mental, moral, or 
87 



88 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



physical; falsehood is its denial. The mind may ac- 
cept an error and reject a truth. It can never accept 
a known falsehood; it simply rejects it. The rejection 
may not be admitted before the world, or even to the 
mind itself; but it is impossible for the mind to accep 
a known untruth, however much, from motives of ex- 
pediency, it may desire to do so. When a proposition 
is true to the understanding, when it appears demon- 
strated as a fact, then it is accepted. On the other 
hand, when its untruth appears demonstrated, then it 
is rejected, and that, whether acceptance or rejectance 
be admitted or denied. 

Between demonstrated truth and demonstrated un- 
truth lies a wide field comprising the undemonstrated. 
Within this lie all those statements or propositions 
that do not admit of proof or demonstration which is 
equally convincing to all minds. These the mind be- 
lieves or disbelieves, accepts or rejects, as probable 
truths. Every mind accepts as true some undemon- 
strated propositions. 

Truth is not affected by men's acceptance or rejec- 
tance of it. A truth may be rejected by all men con- 
tinuously for ages; it ma}^ never be recognized. Yet 
it remains a truth, unchangeable and everlasting, as 
the distant star remains a star, whether the tsljs reach 
this planet or are lost in space before arriving here. 

Truth is alwa3^s the same, and when it apparentlj'' 
changes, it is not truth, but the standpoint of the ob- 
server, which is altered. Right is always right, and 
wrong is always wrong, but the right and wrong of 
special acts may vary with the circumstances which 
produce and the judgment which indorses them. The 



The Ideal Virtues. 



89 



knowledge of Truth is becoming more and more widely 
diffused among men, dissipating the clouds of error 
and ignorance which darkened their minds. 

The knowledge of truths, classified, is Science. 
There are mental, moral, and physical sciences. These 
sciences now enter into men's lives as never before in 
the history of the world. Mental science is applied 
in the acquisition of all knowledge, while the applica- 
tion of physical sciences to the matters of daily life is 
constantly increasing, and knowledge that would have 
startled the sages of former days now belongs to every 
schoolboy. 

Moral truth carried out in men's lives is virtue. 
This is fundamentally different from mental science. 
Our mental attainments, even if not practiced in later 
life, still benefit us by the greater mental power which 
their mastery has given us, and also in the general 
information gained. But a moral truth must live — 
it must grow. If it does not grow, the life will die out 
of it, and nothing but the husk will be left. This is 
"cant.'^ 

The ideal virtues are truthfulness, honesty, justness, 
and humility. Truthfulness may be defined as the 
will, first, to see the self, and all that relates to it, 
in its true light; and second, to frankly present to 
others this true self. To have the will to see one's 
self without sophistication does not necessarily mean 
that one will succeed in doing so. Among the many 
errors which men are constantly making, none is so 
common as a misconception of their own char- 
acter. At themselves they look through the glasses 
of their best thoughts and the mists of their good 



90 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



intentions, "until they have very vague conceptions 
of their real selves, though they may have the 
desire to be truthful. Thus a man remembers his 
noble emotions in connection with a needy case, 
and forgets that his meager contribution, and not 
the stirring of his imagination, measures his real 
self. 

To see the self in its true light requires not only the 
will to do so, but it requires also justness and honesty. 
The tendency of the human mind is toward overesti- 
mation of self, its better qualities and emotions, and 
an underestimation of everything which detracts from 
these. 

Thus man naturally regards with very kindly eyes 
all his virtues, and gives himself credit for his good 
deeds. But he does not apply the same magnifying 
standard to the other side of his character. He calls 
his vices "faults," while his faults are "eccentricities," 
quite excusable in a man of his mental and moral 
caliber. 

If men saw their actions in the light of truth, un- 
screened and undisguised b}^ the sophistries of selfish 
indulgence, only the lowest and most degraded would 
do that which is directly opposed to moral principles. 
But men do not like to draw aside this veil of sophis- 
tries with which they hide their faults from their own 
eyes, — through which a degrading vice may be made 
to appear a small and an easily pardoned offense. 
They rather incline to hold it firmly, and to their pet 
vices they give some circumscribing or facetious ap- 
pellation, lest its true name should shock their sensi- 
bilities too much. Thus a man is not drunk; he is 



The Ideal Virtues. 



91 



"three sheets in the wind," "a little mellow," etc. 
Yet how disgusted is every one when a woman has 
taken enough of any alcoholic drink to be distinctly 
affected by it. Such a vfoman is always simply 
"drunk." In the case of men the disgusting vice is 
veiled, for men have felt onty too often that they 
might some time be found in a similar condition them- 
selves. With women the offense is so rare that it is 
seen in its true and utterly repulsive light, and there- 
fore a drunken woman is always "drunk." No 
doubt women are less often "drunk," because giving 
this offense its right name produces such disgust 
that they more easily overcome any temptation 
toward indulgence. 

In the same way men and women hide from their 
own eyes their dishonesty, selfishness, uncharitable- 
ness, by such adages as " Business is business," " Let 
each look out for number one," etc. Even highway rob- 
bery and murder undergo this transformation. In 
mining districts a man does not wantonly commit 
murder, he " draws a bead on his man," and the rob- 
ber becomes a " road agent." 

Yet truthfulness is a necessary foundation for all 
virtue. Whatever lacks this foundation is falsehood. 
To be truthful, man must be what he appears to be, 
and he must have the courage to see himself as he is, 
and to present himself to others in that light. It is 
not necessary, in order to be truthful, that a man 
should expose all his thoughts and feelings, but he 
must, as far as is in his power, give others the oppor- 
tunity of estimating at their true value those thoughts, 
words, and deeds of which they become cognizant. 



92 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



Thus he must not let others think that the large do- 
nation which he gave as a matter of policy or as a 
business advertisement was prompted by generosit5^ 
He should never speak of it as a gift of charity, but 
should frankl}^ expose his motives, lest others be de- 
ceived. A truthful man is truthful in small as well 
as in great things, in thought and deed, as well as in 
word. He would prefer to hear an unpleasant truth 
rather than a pleasant untruth. To him the truth is 
always welcome. The truthful man will not fall into 
the opposite extreme of depreciating himself and all 
his deeds. Rarely will man do this in his own esti- 
mation; often in conversation with others. This is as 
much an act of deception as is overestimation. By 
the truthful man the truth is fairly and honestly 
sought and given in all things. 

Honesty may be considered as truthfulness applied 
to the material things of life, to the " mine and thine." 
The honest man desires that the right shall prevail. 
Opinions of right differ, but a man who is truthful and 
honest has learned to know the power which self- 
interest exerts upon all minds, and he will therefore 
be watchful that it does not blind him to the rights of 
others in matters of property. He will eschew all 
doubtful means of obtaining wealth. It is surprising 
how many business methods now in vogue must be 
rejected by the strictly honest man. Among these are 
all those various gambling operations and all specu- 
lation in which a man invariably hopes to obtain 
mone}^ or its equivalent for which he does not intend 
to make a fair return. 



The Ideal Virtues. 



93 



Humility is truthfulness united to appreciation of 
our own littleness compared with the Ideal in its 
grandeur. Those who are truly humble will feel this 
littleness even when they are called to high positions. 
They will not be elated by their success, but they will 
feel that the higher position calls for greater watch- 
fulness in fulfilling the higher duties. They v/ill in 
this way become humbled rather than elated by pro- 
motion. 

We find many men in high positions living up to 
the maxim that " might is right." Most educated 
people would be ashamed to confess that they act 
upon this principle, but there are few persons called to 
positions of power who can remain servants and not 
indulge their imagination in the pleasant sense of 
mastery. In his novel, " The Lost Manuscript," Gus- 
tave Freitag makes an exhaustive psychological study 
of a peculiar form of insanity which he calls the 
" Csesarean malady." The author's research has ex- 
tended only to crowned autocrats, whose malady is 
easily traced in history. Such rulers as Nero, Henry 
VIII, Louis XIV, Elizabeth of England, and Catherine 
of Russia are representative types. Yet the Csesarean 
malady does not attack only royal autocrats, but with 
few exceptions it attacks all who have absolute power 
over others. They are to be found in the home, the 
school, the office, on board ship, etc. Only truthful, 
humble men can escape the disease; a conceited, vain- 
glorious man falls most easily its victim. Of all our 
Presidents, Abraham Lincoln was the only one who 
appointed a personal enemy to a position in his Cabi- 
net. He considered Edwin Stanton the right man for 



94 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



the difi&cult position, and was humble enough to be 
just even to an enemy, and thus to his country. 

Justness may be defined as truthfulness combined 
with honesty and humility. It is the crown of all 
virtues. In the Bible the children of God are called 
" the just." 

To be just, a man must be humble, for only humility 
gives him the power to put himself in another's place, 
and look at things from his point of view. A just 
man will judge actions according to the motive which 
prompted them, and he will be careful to consider the 
education and environment of another before con- 
demning him for having low motives. 

Only a just man will be able to judge impartially 
even a person who has forfeited all claims to respect, 
or persons belonging to a despised race or class, as, for 
instance, Indians or tramps. A just man will con- 
sider the rights of all creatures; the more helpless 
these may be, the more in need are they of an honest, 
firm, humane judge. Justness is not alone needed in 
the courtroom, but even more in the home, the school, 
the social circle. Untold injustice is committed by 
well-meaning, self-satisfied men and women who can- 
not put themselves into the place of another. 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE SOCIAL VIRTUES. 

The second great ethical law, " Love thy neighbor as 
thyself," is explained in the Golden Rule. It may be 
impossible to love those who have wronged us or those 
who have destroyed our happiness, yet we can treat 
them justly and with consideration, as we want to be 
treated by them. 

Man is a social being. For his happiness he re- 
quires the presence of his fellow-men. He cannot en- 
joy life alone, and in his sorrows he longs for the sym- 
pathy of others. This is natural, instinctive. No 
m_an is so degraded or so hardened that he has no 
trace of this feeling left, and it is one of the first ex- 
pressions of the awakening intelligence. 

As soon as the child becomes conscious of itself, it 
desires the sympathy of its mother. Her kiss heals 
the bruised finger; her song lulls him to sleep; when 
he is alone he cries for her presence. Soon he wishes 
to share his joy as well as his grief with her; her smile 
calls forth his laughter, and he insists upon putting 
his candy into her mouth. As he grows older he takes 
an interest in her grief, and when he sees her sad he 
weeps with her or tries to comfort her. Thus the de- 
sire to receive sympathy is early accompanied by the 
reciprocal desire to give it; one completes and rounds 
out the other, and these develop into the Love of Man, 
the source of the social virtues. 

95 



96 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



This love is the source of man's greatest happiness. 
What beauty gives to the material world, love gives 
to the moral nature. Beauty and love are naturally 
associated, and the object of our affections becomes 
beautiful in our eyes. Love is the sun which brightens 
human life. As the sun illuminates dark places and 
drives away shadows, so the reciprocal love and in- 
terest between man and man bring joy and happiness 
where there was sorrow, and lightens, where it canno^ 
remove, grief. The sun's rays break into many colors, 
each having its own particular beauty, lending variety 
to the objects of nature; so Love of Man is the source 
of various virtues, each adding its part to the general 
happiness and advancement of mankind. 

From love spring Sympathy, Kindness, Generosity, 
Consideration, Self-forgetfulness, Gratitude, Patriotism. 
Where these enter actively into human life, driving 
out avarice, jealousy, envy, hatred, it obtains an ele- 
ment of completeness which can never be given by 
the development of any other faculties. Even the 
cultivation of the highest virtues, other than the social 
ones, can never supply that possibility of pure human 
happiness which comes through these. Gratitude for 
benefits received calls forth the desire to repay them; 
it is the source of patriotism, which is a gratitude 
toward the country from which a man has received 
sustenance and protection. Filial affection is a form 
of gratitude, — the highest form; but it can hardly be 
called a virtue, as it is a natural instinct, belonging to 
all normal human beings. 

Certain good men have been spoken of as great 
philanthropists, just as we speak of great painters or 



The Social Virtues. 



97 



great musicians. Friendship for mankind would seem 
to be a natural condition, for most children have 
kindly inclinations and enjoy the consciousness of be- 
ing helpful to others; yet philanthropy is a rare virtue. 
Why is this so? 

As a rule, children are generous by nature. As gen- 
erosity, however, does not help, but rather hinders, 
" getting along in the world," parents teach systemati- 
cally, by precept and example, the desirability of 
sharp business habits and the necessity for selfishness 
in the struggle for existence, expressed by the phrase, 
"Always take care of number one." This is unfortunate, 
but it has its reasons. The present competitive indus- 
trial system justifies parents in, almost forces them to, 
this mode of action, if they are to prepare their chil- 
dren for the struggle that awaits them in after life. 

It has been said, man must be either " a hammer or 
an anvil"; which means that he must either beat 
or be beaten: either push others, or be pushed to the 
wall himself. This battle against such terrible odds 
it is which makes of human beings, naturally well- 
disposed, and even of generous persons, hard rivals or 
unyielding and merciless taskmasters. 

It is asserted that only a small proportion of those 
who engage in business succeed in obtaining a com- 
petence. The perpetual grinding struggle of those who 
barely obtain a living, and are continually harassed 
by the fear of losing their sustenance, is pitiful in the 
extreme. What wonder, then, that parents wish to save 
their children from the struggle which they themselves 
may have bitterly felt, and so do all they can to enable 
them to reach that upper stratum of the successful 



98 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



" three per cent " ? What wonder that they early teach 
them to throw overboard, as obstructive and undesir- 
able ballast, all those natural tendencies which would 
make them more thoughtful for the man whom they 
must elbow out of the way if they themselves would 
reach the desired goal? 

This danger and fear of want make selfishness and 
trickery seemingly necessary among ordinary men, 
who are not endowed with exceptional business 
capacity. 

Fear of want is a great incentive to crime, and often 
the grave of all nobler aspirations; too often the 
grave of the social virtues. On the other hand, upon 
this soil flourish envy of another's success, " Brodneid" 
("bread-envy"), jealousy, hatred, dishonesty, which 
embitter and destroy the pleasure man should, and 
otherwise would, feel over the success of others. 

With these impressions of life children grow up, and 
so they lose the open-hearted generosity which is the 
birthright of man. Were it not for this, every man, 
almost, would be a philanthropist. As it is, only 
those who originally possessed those social virtues in 
a greater degree, or in whom the circumstances of 
early Hfe favored a different development, or both, 
reach the position which all should attain, and exem- 
plify the possibilities of a humanity different from 
that which we now know. 

Of these was Louis Agassiz. He was one of nature's 
noblemen. He was brought up under rarely fortunate 
surroundings. All men were to him as brothers, and 
his kindness and justness extended to the animal 
world. Every little living being was to him an object 



The Social Virtues. 



99 



of loving human interest; and so kindly did he treat 
them all, that it was said that serpents, birds, insects, 
soon came at his desire. 

In all animals Agassiz saw living creatures worthy 
of thoughtful care and kindly consideration; but in 
all men he saw brothers, and he never forgot to treat 
the lowest or most illiterate among them with 
the courtesy and respect which the dignity of his hu- 
manity deserved. 

In society he was not a brilliant man, but wherever 
he was his happy spirit warmed and gladdened all 
who came under its influence. 

Such a character shows what a human life can and 
should be. True, it may not yet, under existing con- 
ditions, be possible for many men to reach so high a 
standard, but may we not hope that, as these condi- 
tions improve, the few isolated examples of to-day may 
be typical of the majority of mankind at a not too 
distant future? At all events, the possible ideal which 
has been reached by a few should be looked upon as 
the standard to be aspired to by all. 

The struggle for material existence is still too in- 
tense to leave the moral nature opportunities for per- 
fect unfolding. But much improvement in that line 
is even now possible. The failure to reach a higher 
standard of morality than that at present attained is 
often due to ignorance. When teachers shall have be- 
come deeply interested in elevating the moral standard 
and cultivating the social virtues, then a higher level 
v/ill be reached by all. 

Love of Man is the source of the greatest human 
happiness, even now. How happy are those families 



l.ofC, 



100 



Moro.l Cv.Jture o.s o. Science. 



in which parents, sons, and daughters are all united 
by bonds of unselfish love, where one stands for all 
and all for one. where true friendship and sympathy 
exist, even though many different interests are repre- 
sented. 

How happy and how fortunate is the man or woman 
who possesses a true friend. — a friend to whom to give 
all. — a friend from whom to accept all. — a friend to 
whom to go for consolation in sorrow, advice in trouble, 
joyous sympathy in happiness. And what pleasure, 
not only to receive, but to give, such friendship, for- 
getting the amount given in the joy of giving, as the 
amount received in the joy of recei^-ing. 

Such friendship is rare at present. Perhaps the 
mass of mankind is not yet capable of it. As man 
rises higher in the moral scale he will perceive more 
clearly the happiness to be gained for himself and 
others through the exercise of the social virtues, and 
then, with improved social conditions, it is to be hoped 
that such friendships may be the rule, instead of the 
exception, among mankind. 

But not friendship only is to be considered. How 
much of happiness, or the opposite, does not man re- 
ceive through those who are not particularly near and 
dear to him. The pleasant smile, the cordial greeting, 
the friendly advice, the helpful hand, the considera- 
tion of manner which remembers not only the welfare 
of others, but also their feelings, the readiness to help 
up. instead of pushing down. — all these go to increase 
the smn of human happiness, even now. 

While at present perfect development of the social 
virtues is impracticable without serious injury to self- 



The Social Virtues. 



101 



interests, yet, even now, much can be done — much 
more than is done — to make life happier. It is un- 
questionably true that — 

" More offend from want of thought 
Than from any want of feeling." 

This want of thought, therefore, is one of the things 
which it will be the teacher's province to correct. 

Benevolence, or good will, is one of the foundation 
feelings of the social virtues. True good will towards 
others, what can it not do? It is the keynote in the 
harmony of man's social happiness, and all kind deeds 
that have been performed, all noble and self-sacrificing 
deeds, have been produced in part by this ennobling 
feeling of good will. But good will alone is not very 
effective. A man may have much good will towards 
others, but if he have still more towards himself, it will 
not prevent him from being selfish in his actions; and 
this selfishness is the more objectionable when it is 
constantly accompanied by words of benevolence which 
may be honestly meant, — i.e., that they are not 
prompted by a spirit of hypocrisy; but they are never- 
theless often utterly at variance with the man's actions. 

Such false benevolence may deceive not only the 
man himself into the belief that he is really noble, 
true, unselfish, and highly benevolent, but others also. 
He deceives by his words and manner, and also by occa- 
sional injudicious acts of charity which he sometimes 
performs, less from a desire to benefit the person upon 
whom it is bestowed, than to awaken in others and 
himself the admiration which generosity usually calls 
forth. A benevolent man of this sort loves to give of 
that which he does not need, because to give is " god- 



102 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



like," and to give alms to the poor greatly exalts the 
giver. Hence benevolence is of two kinds: the true 
and the false, — good will and good wish. 

As has been said, trne benevolence, to be useful, 
must be directed in its actions by judgment. Yet bet- 
ter is this, when combined with self-forgetfulness, even 
without being so directed, than the spurious article, 
which needs no directing, there being not enough of 
real good will in it ever to influence actions, or to do 
more than to produce a crop of fine-sounding words. 

Kindness is an active good will, manifesting itself in 
a desire to do that which will give others pleasure and 
benefit. It is always prompted by a feeling of sym- 
pathy, so cheering and pleasant in all friendly inter- 
course. Kindness is the small coin of life, making 
pleasant and convenient all the little interchanges of 
service which are necessary between man and man. 
Nor does kindness consider whether an equivalent has 
been rendered for services given. 

Kindness extends itself to the animal kingdom.. 
Rarely will any one who is kind to man be unkind to 
a dumb brute depending upon him, or which is acci- 
dentally in his power. And the converse holds equally 
true: the man who is kind to animals will usually be 
still more so to his fellow-men, while the one who 
forgets that animals are entitled to kind treatment 
can hardly be trusted to treat with kindness the weak 
of his own race. The boy who tortures a dog, or 
pulls out the legs of the hapless fly, or throws stones 
at a horse that cannot escape him, has a great many 
lessons to learn in kindness. 



The Social Virtues. 



103 



Generosity consists of a free and ready giving of 
that which one has to give and values. This does 
not always mean the giving of money. Many a man 
who has wealth, and places no value upon it, will give 
it as freely as water to those who know how to flatter 
him; this is not generosity. The man may be any- 
thing but generous. He may give of money, yet may 
be utterly unable to forgive the least wounding of his 
self-love, the least act which he considers as a slight 
or injury. Such a man is not generous. The gener- 
ous man gives freely whatever he can to increase the 
happiness of others, and so increases his own; for in 
giving others pleasure he finds his. Not only does he 
give money, but time, thought, consideration; and a 
generous man is ever ready to forget a wrong, never 
holding tenaciously to the memory of an injury re- 
ceived. 

Generosity may go too far. In trying to assist 
others a man may forget not only his own good, — 
this he has, in one sense, a moral right to do, — but 
also the welfare of those who have direct claims upon 
him. Such generosity is very rare, as all the child's 
education is directed towards preventing it; but when 
found, it sometimes causes much unpleasantness in the 
family circle. We are bound by the second great ethi- 
cal law to do unto others only as we would have them 
do unto us; and surely we should be unwilling to accept 
from others what they need more than we do ourselves. 

Consideration. Perhaps no quality among the 
social virtues causes so much of direct happiness to all 
with whom a man comes in contact as the exercise of 
this quality of consideration. Consideration is kind- 



104 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



ness united with thougMfulness. It may be defined 
as an intellectual kindness. As the virtues are every- 
where enhanced in value and effectiveness by being 
united with mental qualities, so it is here. Consider- 
ation is superior to mere kindness. Many a person is 
kind, but forgets to be considerate; every considerate 
person is also kind. 

The considerate man not only does the kind deed 
which he sees is needed, but he also does it in such a 
way that it will be pleasant to the receiver. He re- 
members of the Golden Rule, not the letter only, and 
puts himself completely into the other's place, forget- 
ting every feeling of selfish gratification at being the 
one to do the kindness. He makes all his words and 
actions show the thought he takes for the satisfaction 
of the other, as if it were himself. Almost every man is 
considerate of himself and his own feelings. How 
careful he is when he finds fault with himself, remem- 
bering to bring forward all the excuses which he rea- 
sonably can; how he seeks for and brings out his 
best motives; in receiving kindnesses from others, how 
successfully he persuades himself that he is entitled 
to them. The considerate man does all this for his 
neighbor, and in all his intercourse with him, both of 
a business and of a social character, he has his neigh- 
bor's feelings in view, and, where practicable and pos- 
sible, also his interest. 

Gratitude. Gratitude for benefits received is an- 
other of the social virtues which needs to be cultivated. 
From the day of his birth to the day of his death, man 
is indebted to others for a thousand services which he 
must return, partly in kind, partly only through a 



The Social Virtues. 



105 



sense of his obligation, which produces an affectionate 
remembrance of the services rendered. 

Gratitude is an instinctive feeling, and is strong in 
the higher animals and in most of the savage races. 
Among the latter, ingratitude is generally stigmatized 
as one of the lowest of vices. Among civilized men, 
competition has become so great, the undignified 
scramble — no other word will express it — for wealth 
and position is so active and intense, that men for- 
get only too often the promptings of this fundamental 
feeling, and ruthlessly push aside and out of the way 
the very man who gave them the initial impulse toward 
success. Yet a strong, deep gratitude is often found 
even among these competing rivals, which colors a 
person's action for years, perhaps for life. 

Patriotism is gratitude toward the country which 
has given the man a home and sustenance. It is, like 
ordinary gratitude, inborn, nourished by lifelong 
associations, and developed, in its higher form, into a 
strong and deep affection for the country and its in- 
stitutionSo Patriotism, more than any other one virtue, 
has inspired thousands, yea, millions, of men and 
women to sacrifice life, wealth, position, everything, 
for the country they love. Strongest, most powerful, 
most noble, has patriotism always been under demo- 
cratic governments. 

Sentimentality. A few words on this subject may 
not be amiss. Where there is anything true, there is 
always something false to simulate it. Sentimentality 
may try to receive honors by imitating her nobler sis- 
ter, Sentiment. Sentimentality shows itself in various 
ways. The benevolence which is only on the lips; 



106 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



the kindness towards animals which forgets reason and 
the right and dignity of hnmanity, — as when a bnxom 
girl exclaimed, with meekly upturned eyes, that she 
"could never love any one who could deUberately kill 
a mosquito," — these are examples of sentimentality. 

It is the sentimental persons who go about pauper- 
izing the poor, and degrading themselves by alms- 
giving, — alms-giving, where they should give either 
work^ or cheerfully a part of themselves in thought, 
kindness, and consideration, which should accompany 
assistance to a needy fellow-creature. So-called "alms- 
giving," in ninety-nine per cent of the cases in which it 
does not come from a simple desire for honor and credit, 
has its origin in sentimentality only. The giving 
which proceeds from true love of man, true generosity, 
true sentiment, does not call or consider itself "alms- 
giving," but only needful help. 

There is a sentimental kindness toward "the poor," 
or to "inferiors," which is too often mistaken for gen- 
uine kindness and generosit}" of feeling. This senti- 
mentality never for a moment forgets the wide gulf 
fixed between the person giving it and the one to whom 
it is extended. It is an utterly unworthy feeling, 
which, though it may not alvrays offend the latter, 
must of necessity degrade the former, for it is based 
upon a conception of humanity which is in itself low- 
ering to the nature of man. 

The person who thus kindl}'' condescends to "stoop" 
to an "inferior" will himself bow downhumbl}^ before 
a "superior," and in this humility there will be as 
little of self-respect — of dignified manhood or woman- 
hood — as there was in his condescending kindness 
towards the "inferior," 



The Social Virtues. 107 

Sentimentality is false, and everything false is 
always, and under all circumstances, lowering and 
degrading to the moral nature. This, then, teachers 
should earnestly and carefully guard against; and 
while in every way training and maturing true en- 
nobling sentiment, they should uproot and cast away 
into the uttermost darkness all false "gush" and 
sentimentality. 

This is most happily expressed by Miss Jane Ad- 
dams, founder of the first college settlement of Chicago. 
She says, "There is nothing more dangerous than 
being good to people. You must be good with people. 
Here lies the secret of the success of a college settle- 
ment. " 



CHAPTER I. 
METHODS OF REACHING THE CHILD. 

The course in ethics differs from that of any other 
branch of study, because the question of right and 
wrong is a constant consideration in the life of a child. 
He may be able to put aside all thought of arithmetic, 
grammar, geography, or spelling when he leaves his 
schoolroom; but this question of the right and wrong 
of things follows him even to his game-ground; it is a 
consideration which is constant with all normal chil- 
dren, and for that reason a frank study of the subject 
is of interest to them. 

In teaching morality it is very important that the 
faculty of imagination be cultivated. The develop- 
ment of this powerful factor in training is too often 
neglected. Imagination brings poetry and sunshine 
into the world of the child; it transforms the bundle 
of rags into a beautiful baby, or the stick into a pran- 
cing steed. The child is carried out of his humdrum 
existence into a world peopled by heroes and heroines, 
whose feats of valor or whose irresistible charms are 
copied from stories which have been heard or read. 
For very imaginative children there is great danger in 
this day-dreaming. When awakened to face the dis- 
agreeable realities of life, they are disgusted, and can- 
not control their ill-humor, because of the contrast 
between fancy and reality. They are then likely to 
compare their conditions with those of more favored 

108 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 



109 



companions, and thus fall into the deplorable habit of 
self-pity. This is fatal to happiness; no more unfor- 
tunate creature can be imagined than one who per- 
sists in self-pitying reflections as to the poor chances 
in life which he may have had, the lack of means to 
carry out his ambitions, or the great good which he 
might have done had he been in certain desirable 
conditions of life. Many thus waste their whole lives 
in a vain longing for the unattainable advantages 
which physical charms or great wealth alone can 
give. If the imagination has thus been allowed to 
degenerate into phantasy, it is difficult to bring it 
under control later; yet, without a trained imagina- 
tion, the attainment of the false ideas which reign in 
this world of fancy will become the motive of the en- 
tire life. If, however, the imagination is trained in 
youth, it will clothe dry facts with beauty, and make 
hard study a delight. In this way it will serve to 
idealize the real conditions and facts of life, so that 
children's eyes may be opened to the poetry which is 
possible everywhere. Children should learn to see 
that the mastery of self, the victory of truth over false- 
hood on the battle-field of each inner life, is a greater 
triumph than the taking of a city. When they have 
learned to appreciate the chances which their simple 
every-day life offers for greatness, they will usually 
leave off day-dreaming and wishing for things as they 
are not, and never can be. 

True happiness lies in the real things of life, — those 
which are in our power to change. Epictetus the Stoic 
says: — 

" The lord of each of us is he that hath power over 



110 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



the things which we desire or dislike, to give or to 
take away. Whosoever, then, will be free, let him 
neither desire nor shun any of the things that are in 
others' power; otherwise he must needs be enslaved." 

A teacher who is filled with the desire to " make the 
real, ideal," will teach his pupils to feel that nothing 
has a greater value than a life spent for a great idea. 
He will make them understand that there is no com- 
parison between the greatness of such men as Frobel 
and Jay Gould. Few of us will be as well known as 
is Frobel, yet all can be as true and brave and useful 
as he was. Each one of us can be one in life and 
motive with the greatest men of all times. 

A few more suggestions as to ways and means of 
presenting the subject of ethics to children may be 
useful here. 

Four general lines of work will be discussed in this 
connection. 

1. The childish habit of repeating over and over 
again some rhythmic verse or sentence may serve a 
good purpose by giving children beautiful poems and 
short prose selections to commit to memory. 

2. They should study the lives of the noblest men and 
women of all times. This gives a conception of " ethics 
in the concrete." It is said that, next to fiction, there 
is now the greatest demand for biographical works in 
our public libraries. Especially are half-grown boys 
and girls who are beginning to plan for the future 
life-work interested in these true stories of real life. 
Stories from such works as " Whewell's History of 
Inductive Science " are also useful, as they show the 
" human " side of each great scientific discovery, and 
rouse the imagination in a wholesome way. 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 



Ill 



3. The more analytical consideration of the prin- 
ciples of ethics, as will naturally be suggested by the 
study of noble and useful lives, and the careful study 
of words which express the virtues to be acquired. 

4. The special duties and obligations of the in- 
dividual should be studied and discussed in the higher 
grades. This might include the duties of the domestic 
relations, — of children to parents, parents to children; 
the duties of the employer to his employees, and vice 
versa; of the business man to his patrons, and those of 
the citizen toward his country. 

This work will require research in history and biog- 
raphy, and will, in that way, be the means of making 
reading and discussion a pleasure to intelligent young 
people. 

One caution here may not be entirely amiss. Never 
should any rules or principles of Morality be pre- 
sented in an argumentative manner, or as if the point 
taken needed proof. The use of the circumflex, or the 
rising inflection, should be avoided in speaking of 
moral laws, moral necessities, or moral duties. The 
imagination of the child is caught by positive state- 
ments. Moreover, it is a peculiarity of all unculti- 
vated minds instinctively to doubt any statement 
which is supported by argument. The "this must be 
so because — " leads to the unconscious feeling that if 
there is any necessity for reinforcing the opinion ex- 
pressed by a "because," there is a reasonable doubt of 
its truth. The feeling is sometimes so strong that the 
argument presented, which may be incontrovertible, 
is entirely lost sight of, and the result is a doubt in 
the mind of the hearer. The statements made should, 
for this reason, be couched in positive language and 



112 Moral Culture as a Science. 

end with the falling inflection. Pupils should be 
called upon to cite, not proofs to establish, but exam- 
ples to illustrate any point which may be under con- 
sideration. 

The several lines of work mentioned may be carried 
on together, especially in the higher grammar schools; 
each will be found to supplement the others. 

During the first two years of school life the work is 
necessarily oral. Poems should be committed to 
memory and stories told and reproduced. Not until 
about the third year will note-books be of much use . 
Into these all poems and prose selections might be 
copied and later memorized. We do too little memo- 
rizing of the old-fashioned, exact kind. This gives an 
opportunity to store the memory with some of the 
gems of literature. A little girl once committed to 
memory the following lines from Hiawatha " : — 

" Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, 
Who have faith in God and Nature, 
Who believe, that in all ages 
Every human heart is human, 
That in even savage bosoms 
There are longings, yearnings, strivings, 
For the good they comprehend not, 
That the feeble hands and helpless, 
Groping blindly in the darkness. 
Touch God's right hand in that darkness 
And are lifted up and strengthened." 

" It took me ten years to understand those words," 
she said when she had grown to womanhood, but 
little by little they became the greatest moral factor 
of my life. Small prejudices were crowded out of my 
mind; a great sympathy with all those who, like my- 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 113 

self, were ' groping blindly in the darkness,' an ap- 
preciation of the ' hearts that are fresh and simple,' 
and the feehng that the whole human family is a great 
brotherhood, grew strong within me. All this, and 
more than I can say, came to me from those few lines 
which I committed to memory as a child, because the 
rhythm pleased me." 

A class of third-year children had copied the follow- 
ing from Longfellow's poem on the Fiftieth Birthday 
of Agassiz," in their note-books: — 

And Nature, the old nurse, took 

The child upon her knee, 
Saying, ' Here is a story-book 

Thy Father has written for thee. 

' Come, wander with me,' she said, 

* Into regions yet untrod ; 
And read v>^hat is still unread 
In the manuscripts of God.' 

^' And he wandered away and away 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 
Who sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 

And whenever the way seemed long, 

And his heart began to fail , 
She would sing a more wonderful song, 

Or tell a more marvelous tale." 

The children read the poem; only here and there a 
hint was given as to v/hat the story-book was Y\^hich 
our Father had written for us; and though they could 
not express it, they felt from their previous stories about 
Agassiz's life-work vv^hat the " manuscripts of God " 



114 Moral Culture as a Science. 



must be. There are few poems in our language with 
words so simple, yet with meanings so suggestive of 
great things. 

In this school the children had always been encour- 
aged to recite something helpful, or to tell some story 
which they themselves had read from the " manu- 
scripts of God," as an opening of the day's work. Upon 
the morning after this poem had been read, a little 
boy said eagerly, " I learned that poem by heart, that 
we had yesterday! " In reciting it his voice betrayed 
the emotion which he felt as his mind expanded to 
take in the great meanings. The children felt the 
charm; be had touched all hearts. " I was saying it 
over and over to myself all day yesterday, even in my 
sleep," he said simply. 

The good in memorizing these gems of thought is 
life-lasting. How often in after years, when a great 
passion or deep sorrow is holding the whole inner life 
almost passive with pain, will some poem, freighted 
with holy meanings, rise up in the mind too weary to 
think, and bring hope and comfort. 

All teachers know how eagerly children read stories 
of noble men and women, and how powerfully true 
greatness appeals to them. It proves the truth of the 
poet's words, — 

" 'T is life whereof our nerves are scant, 
More life, and fuller, that we want." 

Children are so apt to think that heroes are only 
those great men of whom we read in history. In his 
" Reminiscences of Brunson," Dr. Max Muller says, 
"He is a great man, who is honest, unselfish, and 
brave." With this estimate in mind, children will 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 



115 



grow to appreciate the true greatness of the simple 
people as they see them every day. The kind, hard- 
working man who is always trying to help others bear 
their burdens, forgetting that his own are heavy; the 
woman with the great mother-heart that takes into 
her sympathies all the little ones living near; the 
thousand unselfish, brave acts which they did not no- 
tice before, — all these will become significant to them, 
and their lives will be wonderfully enriched. 

This estimate of greatness, moreover, excludes many 
a m^an whom they might be inclined to admire unduly 
for deeds of physical courage. Morally, a fearless man 
may be a coward. He may willingly sacrifice prin- 
ciples for the sake of being popular, or he may be dis- 
honest and exceedingly selfish. They will find that 
prominence gained by courageous acts may depend 
wholly upon a powerful physique. With the loss of 
health and strength their hero may be shorn of all 
greatness. 

" He is a great man, who is honest, unselfish, and 
brave." A class of children who had discussed this 
added the following: "There are many great men of 
whom the world hears nothing." They had learned 
from Napoleon's life something of this great soldier's 
motives; soon after, they had read stories from the 
life of Samuel Gridley Howe, — his soldier career in 
Greece, his work for the blind, and the education of 
Laura Bridgman, deaf, dumb, and blind. Whittier's 
poem, " Oh, for a Knight like Bayard," written of this 
noble American, had been studied, and partly memo- 
rized. All this had aroused the enthusiasm of the 
children. During an informal discussion, a boy said, 



116 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



"I think Dr. Howe was a greater man than Napoleon, 
don't you?" Before answering, the teacher asked, 
"Why do you think so?" — "Well, he was every bit as 
brave as Napoleon, and then he was unselfish and 
honest, while Napoleon was just always fighting for 
himself." 

It might be argued that it is not wise to lead chil- 
dren to think so seriously; but when we remember 
that our truly great men and women have, with a few 
exceptions, learned to take serious matters seriously 
in childhood, and since the children who are learning to 
reason on serious subjects are more likely to have a far 
happier childhood than their more thoughtless com- 
panions, is there any danger in a reasonable amount 
of character-study? Children become neither "con- 
science-haunted " nor "priggish" if the observations 
are never applied to themselves. It serves merely to 
turn the musings of the busy little thinkers into no- 
bler channels of thought. 

An admirable device for fixing great literary events 
in chronological order is suggested by Miss M. E. Burt 
in her book, " Literary Landmarks." A long line rep- 
resents the centuries divided into the two eras, B.C. 
and A.D., by the Cross. Upon this line the monu- 
ments of great writers fix distinctly in the child's 
mind the time in which each lived. The same device 
may be used in teaching the hves of great men, — those 
who have given their lives for the advancement of the 
human race, whether in literary, scientific, artistic, or 
philanthropic lines. 

The more analytical study of moral principles will 
go hand in hand with character-study. The term 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 



117 



"personal," "ideal," or "social" virtues may or may 
not be used with the older children, as the teacher may 
see fit; but the principles should be taught. So many 
emotional persons, enthusiastic for " the good, the 
true, and the beautiful," would become better balanced, 
and their efforts would result in far greater good, if 
they had learned to discern ethical principles. As it 
is, they are apt to be carried away with each new 
fad in doing good, and not see that the underlying 
principles often will not bear inspection. Literature 
of an " indefinitely elevating " character finds appre- 
ciative readers among them, yet when the stress of a 
great temptation is brought to bear upon them, the 
emotions may be led astray by the sophistries of the 
new desires. 

Intellectual moral culture is invaluable; it leads to 
that rare combination of experience, kindness, unself- 
ishness, and keen moral insight which the Bible calls 
ivisdom. 

The new duties which devolve upon the individual 
on reaching adult life should be very thoroughly dis- 
cussed in the higher grades of the grammar school. In 
some church denominations, children between the 
ages of twelve and sixteen are given a year's instruc- 
tion in these matters before confirmation. They re- 
ceive, besides the religious training, definite moral 
instruction, which is to prepare them for the time 
when they will be held responsible for their own acts. 
The result of this training often lasts through life. 
Can we believe that the influence of a Dr. Arnold, a 
Charles Kingsley, or a Phillips Brooks can ever be for- 
gotten? And the power for good which these men 



118 Moral Culture as a Science. 



possessed lay, not in their scholarly attainments, nor 
in mere gifts of eloquence; their power lay in their 
unquestioning devotion to the ideal, and their abound- 
ing faith in the innate good in men. Boldly they 
appealed to this good; where it was dormant, they 
aroused it. So must it be with us. We must always 
remember that the people who died at the stake for 
their belief, or those who fought for the rights of the 
weak and down-trodden in the early days of chivalry, 
were not made of finer clay than are the boys and 
girls of to-day. 

" Earth has its royal natures yet, 
Brave, tender, true, and sweet." 

We must have faith, unalterable faith, in the innate 
nobility of the child. It is faith which removes moun- 
tains, — mountains of suspicion and distrust. 

Even now in our crowded schools, where teaching 
according to psychological principles is wellnigh im- 
possible, this faith in the child — the desire to believe 
in the best that is in him (at the same time not ignor- 
ing, but helping him to overcome, the worst) — will be 
the means by which a teacher may rise above all con- 
ditions, and make the spirit of the school a benedic- 
tion to all those who come within its influence. 

The lines of reading in which young people become 
interested have a great influence upon them. For 
instance, many high-school courses in English em- 
phasize the literary productions of our great orators 
and statesmen, and whole classes of bo^^s, who have 
studied the famous arguments and orations, merely as 
lessons in style, leave school, fired with the ambition 
to become lawyers. Through the law they hope to 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 



119 



enter politics, and in imagination they see the White 
House as their home. 

The mistake lies in the fact that the boys had 
come to admire the great statesmen, not the great men. 
They should realize from the first that our life-work, 
in order to be most successful, must be in line with 
our natural ability; that in honest work, truly done, 
lies the greatness of men. What we should admire 
and imitate in great men is, not the profession, but 
the power of concentration, the faithfulness to a trust, 
and the unselfishness which will sacrifice all personal 
considerations to a principle. 

As in a great building only a comparatively few 
stones used in its construction can be seen on the sur- 
face, so in life, only a few great men become famous. 
Sometimes fame is bought with the price of true great- 
ness; a man's ambition may prompt him to stoop to 
ignoble means in order to gain position; his placing 
self above principle stamps him as a weak character. 
So the ornamental stones on the outside of the build- 
ing are often composed of weaker stuff than the gran- 
ite blocks within. 

As the law attracts many young men who have am- 
bitions to become statesmen, so business attracts others 
who hope to gain pleasure and power by amassing a 
fortune. This, again, is imitation of some great finan- 
cier who " started as a poor boy." 

Very exceptional indeed was a young man of 
splendid attainments who, on leaving the university, 
went to teaching in a high school. After several years 
of successful work he accepted a position with a large 
corporation, where his salary was doubled and his 



120 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



chances for " rising " were good. To the dismay of 
his friends, however, he deliberately resigned within a 
year, to again take up the profession of teaching. 

" It is a sordid life, this scramble after wealth," he 
said. To give one's whole time and energy to the ac- 
quisition of money, trampling under foot all ideals, is 
unworthy of any good mind. I prefer to do work that 
will last, that will live and grow; to deal in futures of 
another kind, — in the futures of young men and women. 
In this work I find my best efforts necessary to success, 
and promising worthy returns. I was a scientist by 
nature, and I have found no subjects more interesting 
than human beings. Why force myself into a life 
which is alien to me, — a life-work which prevents all 
true development? Agassiz was right, ' We have no 
time to make money.' " 

Habits. Every act has its significance as the fore- 
runner of a habit. If the act is such that a habit 
based upon it would be a desirable one, no more 
thought need be given it, as a good habit is forming. 

Most children intend to become good when they 
grow to be men and women. They know that in the 
world of men habits of honesty, truthfulness, fairness, 
are essential qualifications; but they have heard so 
many good people relate with zest the tricks and vi- 
cious pranks of their childhood, that they think, "Mr. 
J. and Mr. K. and papa are good men, yet they were 
very bad boys. I '11 be like them; I '11 have 'fun' 
now, and behave myself later on." 

In some cases when the "bad boy" is confronted 
with the business of earning a living or learning a 
trade or studying for a profession, he does behave 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 



121 



himself remarkably well, and we say with surprise, 
" How well he has turned out! " Yet when conditions 
are unfavorable, the lowest possibilities in his nature 
often become dominant. Even if he does not turn out 
a criminal before the law, he may be none the less 
vicious. 

If we study the lives of men who have achieved true 
success, which means a victory over self and a triumph 
of all the better qualities of their natures, we invari- 
ably come to the conclusion that the truly great men 
were those who began in youth the habit of carefully 
considering questions of right and wrong. 

Some very practical advantages of forming good 
habits and leaving a clean record might be explained 
to children with good effect. There are so many 
things that children "want" which they know can 
only be gotten with money, that they are inclined to 
consider of great importance anything which will 
have a money value. This utilitarian argument for a 
clean life will appeal to many who could not appreci- 
ate the ethical reason. If they feel that in the great 
world of business the record of even a child is taken, 
into account, it will have a great weight with some, 
and to all it emphasizes the importance of a good 
name. 

All the employees of the Wells Fargo Express Com- 
pany, for instance, are required to give bond, so that the 
company is secured in case of loss by the dishonesty 
of any of the men. When a young man is a candidate 
for a position, he must give his name, place of birth, 
former place of residence, the names of old friends, of 
teachers, etc. These data are turned over to another 



122 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



company, that makes a business of going security for 
any employees who are required to give bond. An 
agent of this company then ferrets out every possible 
incident of the man's former life. If this report is a 
favorable one, the company takes the risk; if dishonesty, 
trickery, or anything of a doubtful character has come 
to light by the investigation, the security is refused. 

The fact that so many public men have found it very 
embarrassing to face their early record, is making an 
impression upon the ambitious boys of to-day. Al- 
though this is a low motive for leading a clean life, it 
is better than none. On applying to a prominent 
lawyer for a position to study law, a young man re- 
marked, "I have kept my record above reproach so 
far^ in school and out of it, and I intend to do so al- 
ways. Whatever I may do in the future, I shall be 
all the better for having no skeleton in my past. I 
want to be perfectly free to devote all my energy to 
my profession." 

Ambition prompted this young man to keep a clear 
record. Later in life he may learn to appreciate it for 
higher reasons. 

In preparing to put up a large structure, we dig 
deep down to the solid ground. Then begins the child- 
hood of the building, — that part which is unseen by 
the world. 

Sometimes a building leans, and we say that the 
foundation is at fault. If a man is not upright in his 
life, we must conclude that the foundation of his life 
was badly laid. Seventy per cent of all criminals are 
said to be under thirty years of age. Had these young 
people learned to control their lower impulses in child- 



Methods of Reaching the Child. 



123 



hood, if they had formed the habit of considering the 
comfort and happiness of others above their own, and 
to appreciate the sacredness of a trust, they would not 
have yielded in the time of temptation, which comes to 
us all. 

During the first fifteen or twenty years, children 
are laying the foundation of their lives in home and 
school. They work hard, drawing in materials for 
future use. Happy the child that gathers only the 
best materials, and receives just enough help in lay- 
ing his foundation as shall make of him a good 
workman! 



CHAPTER II. 



SCHOOL GOVERNMENT IN ITS RELATION TO 
MORAL TRAINING. 

School government and moral training, though they 
work in the same general direction, must not be con- 
founded with each other. The former is directed 
towards insuring good behavior in school. The latter 
has for its primary object the development of the child 
into a noble man or woman. Some of the strictest and 
most successful school disciplinarians are most defi- 
cient in character-building. Though a conscientious 
teacher will always combine with school government 
as much of the moral training as possible, yet, in and 
of themselves, they are distinct. 

For instance, a good disciplinarian may keep better 
order in school — i.e., may better suppress whispering, 
outward manifestations of restlessness, etc. — than the 
instructor who seeks principally to elevate the moral 
standard of his pupils; while the latter may develop 
more truth, honor, and love of right among the children. 

Certain natural impulses, such as talking or whisper- 
ing, walking about, or innocent play, harmless in them- 
selves, must be curbed or suppressed in the school- 
room, because they become disturbing influences. 

A strict disciplinarian will be more annoyed by such 
offenses against school discipline than by the artful 
cunning of some hypocrite, and may therefore proceed 
more energetically against this than against the more 

124 



School Government in Relation to Moral Training. 125 

serious evil. A child measuring the gravity of the 
cause by the greater effect produced may be thus 
taught to look upon these misdemeanors in the light 
of heinous offenses, compared to which lying and hyp- 
ocrisy are slight. He thus loses the sense of moral 
proportion, and having first learned to overestimate 
the moral importance of these offenses against school 
discipline, he is likely to take the second step, and look 
upon real wrong as a misdemeanor only. 

Though school government is not moral training, 
yet it may be made a great factor in it. In school, 
the spoiled pet and autocrat of the home is placed on 
the same level with the other children; his faults are 
corrected, his pert sayings disregarded, — in short, he 
becomes a failing mortal, and is cured of much of his 
self-conceit. Another child, bashful and timid, feels, 
perhaps for the first time in his life, that he is the 
equal of others, respected for himself in spite of his 
poor dress or dull comprehension. There, too, chil- 
dren must give up many of their individual peculiari- 
ties and learn to conform to certain inflexible rules, 
which tends to greatly counteract the egotism of the 
home life. This equalizing process, in itself, is of the 
greatest moral benefit to all. 

As in the political world there are all sorts of gov- 
ernments, from the arbitrary despotism to the free 
republic, like that of Switzerland, so the same is 
true of our schools. On the thrones we find such 
characters as Peter I, Frederick II, Elizabeth of Eng- 
land, Louis XIV of France, — rulers who excelled in 
military and administrative skill. Yet they were 
despots, their will was law, and they controlled their 



126 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



kingdoms by the force of their arms and the power of 
their will, without asking either for the wishes or the 
counsel, though often considering the ultimate good, of 
their subjects, whose noblest duty was thought to be 
implicit, unquestioning obedience. 

Their counterpart is found at n^any teachers' desks. 
The teacher makes laws and lays down rules wliich 
the pupil must obey implicitly. Their consent or 
counsel is not asked; they are simply commanded to 
do this thing and leave the other undone, or bear the 
consequences. Every rule is strictly enforced, and its 
violation punished severely — when the culprit is 
caught. 

In former times parents and teachers often resorted 
to this method of government, and the man who most 
skillfully used the rod was considered by many the 
best schoolmaster. Schools were places for impart- 
ing a certain amount of knowledge, without regard to 
the child's inclinations or individuality. To protect 
these, the child was forced into a warfare, carried on, 
on his side, by hatred, cunning, or obstinacy; on that 
of the teacher, by brute force. 

Such school government does not produce a good 
moral tone in the school, for it awakens dissatisfaction, 
and an open or secret spirit of rebellion which is 
harmful. The children see in the teacher an enemy, 
and they consider it a glory to annoy him or to evade 
his rules, the reason of which they will not try to 
understand and the necessity of which they will not 
admit. Untruthfulness and hypocrisy are fostered 
among them, and teacher and pupils alike will learn 
to hate the school. 



School Government in Relation to Moral Training. 127 

The faults of such a system of school government 
do not end here. One of its worst moral effects is that 
it destroys the power of the child's own will, substi- 
tuting therefor the will of another. Now, nothing is 
more important in the moral progress of man than 
that his will should be, not destroyed, but trained; 
not broken, but strengthened. Therefore the school 
government which looks only towards enforcing the 
will of the teacher is harmful in its effects, for it unfits 
the child to become his own master. As soon as the re- 
straints are removed he abuses his liberty, for it was 
neither self-respect nor love for the precepts he 
obeyed, but fear only, which kept him in bounds. Chil- 
dren so trained, enjoy, even in after life, the recollection 
of the tricks they played, and the cunning they dis- 
played in evading laws and escaping punishment. 

In the third place, the rules and their reason are 
not explained, and often the child cannot conceive at 
all why certain rules have been made. 

Again, the punishment is arbitrary; there is no ap- 
parent relation between the rule that is broken and 
the consequences which follow its infringement. 

The enforcement of obedience to fixed rules, even 
though they are not always understood, has, however, 
its right place in the governing and training of chil- 
dren. A certain amount of unquestioning obedience 
is very beneficial to the youthful character, for unless 
the child has learned to obey, the man will rarely be 
able to command, either himself or others. The no- 
table absence of this trait of character in " Young 
America " is to be regretted. 

Thus in some instances of entire absence of home 



128 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



traiiiing, the teacher may find it expedient at first to 
employ this arbitrary method of government, until 
the child is far enough advanced to obey from higher 
motives. 

While, therefore, the arbitrary method of govern- 
ment just described is unconditionally to be con- 
demned as a general guide to the teacher's actions, 
yet under certain circumstances it may be useful and 
even necessary. 

The method of nature in the training of children, 
advocated by Herbert Spencer and various Ger- 
man writers before him, consists in adhering as far as 
possible to the general principles which nature follows 
in enforcing her laws, and in punishing any infraction 
thereof. 

When one of nature's laws is broken, the consequence 
is generally pain. If a child eats too much, it becomes 
ill; if it plays with fire, it is very apt to burn its fin- 
gers; if it climbs into insecure places, it is likely to 
fall and hurt itself. The punishment is such that the 
child readily sees the relation between cause and ef- 
fect. 

This the teacher can imitate to a certain extent in 
governing his school. The punishment is made to 
have a direct and apparent relation to the offense, and 
to follow as its natural and inevitable consequence. 

If, for example, a child uses unclean words, his 
mouth may be washed. The necessity, or at least the 
justice, of washing out a mouth through v;hich unclean, 
dirty" words have passed will be felt if not admitted. 

Some of the objections against the arbitrary method 
are removed in this; the rules are not so arbitrary; 



School Government in Relation to Moral Training. 129 

the result of their infraction is a natural and conse- 
quential one which the child feels is just. 

It does not produce that spirit of antagonism against 
law and law-makers which is sure to follow, in spir- 
ited children, the employment of the more tyrannical 
method. The child here is not forced to obey at the 
point of a stick, but his judgment is called into action, 
the necessity of the law and the inevitable conse- 
quence of breaking it are impressed upon him, and he 
modifies his conduct accordingly. 

This method, however, will be found useful in the 
schoolroom only when the teacher carries it out much 
more faithfully than nature does. In the school, 
where minutes are precious, and many children are 
gathered together, who differ greatly in character and 
trainability," none must take an undue proportion 
of time out of school hours, absolute obedience to cer- 
tain fundamental laws must be required, and this can- 
not always be attained by a strict adherence to nature's 
sometimes dilatory methods. 

Again, nature's laws differ from those necessary in 
the government of all human affairs by human agen- 
cies, and especially those necessary in moral train- 
ing, in this respect: — 

Nature allows an individual to go any distance on 
the road toward an infringement of her laws without 
punishment, so long as he stops short of the actual 
offense; or if punishment follows, it may be so distant 
and indirect that it is often not recognized as the re- 
sult of the partial infringement of the law. 

Thus a child may play with fire as much as he 
likes. Nature permits that, in and of itself. It is only 



130 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



when the fire is brought in contact with the skin 
that she sends a swift and sure retribution; or, indi- 
rectly, when it is brought into contact with inflamma- 
ble substances, — for instance, little sister's dress. 

The child does not know, at first, that nature is 
more kindly disposed, in this respect, towards iron than 
towards linen or human flesh, allowing the fire to be 
not only harmless, but beneficial and beautiful in the 
grate or stove, while it does mischief elsewhere. 

So when a child moderately overeats habitually, it 
may suffer but httle discomfort from the indulgence. 
Nature accommodates herself to many of the wishes 
and imprudences of her children; and though she 
demands payment of her bill in the shape of an un- 
wieldy body, yet the relation between cause and effect 
is not always apparent to the unobservant eye. Again, 
a child may climb anywhere for a long time without 
evil results, until some day, trusting his weight to too 
weak a limb, he falls, and perhaps loses his life or 
becomes permanently crippled. Or he may remain 
comparatively uninjured from a fall from a tree, and 
rolling off a sofa, may break a limb. 

Nothing could be more opposed to what we consider 
the laws of nature than the free and habitual use of a 
violent, irritant poison like arsenic, yet the peasants 
of Styria eat it almost as freely as we do sugar, and 
thrive and grow to old age in apparently good health. 

In the government by merely human agencies, it is 
not possible to draw the line so closely between that 
which is harmful and that which merely approaches 
it. Especially is this true in regard to moral matters. 
The little involuntary, and almost unconscious, de- 



School Government in Relation to Moral Training, 131 

ceptions practiced by the young child in word and 
look and deed may by gradual, imperceptible degrees 
lead him to the felon's cell. The passionate outbursts 
of the boy or girl, uncontrolled, may later be the 
cause of a crime which the man or woman would 
gladly give life itself to undo. Weak yielding to the 
taste for sweetmeats in childhood may give the taste 
for strong drink a fatal power. 

We find that some of the objections against the arbi- 
trary method of child-government which was formerly 
in vogue, and which is by no means yet extinct, are 
corrected in this method of nature. But one remains. 
It is, again, fear, and fear only, which is relied upon to 
prevent the child from doing wrong. True, it is not 
such a blind, unreasoning fear, — not a fear which de- 
stroys the will-power, as the former does. Yet it is 
only through fear of the consequences that the child is 
restrained, and he may learn to think that he has a 
right to do that which is not followed by evil conse- 
quences to himself, or he may learn to disregard or 
evade these consequences. 

Again, he finds very quickly that, though nature 
may always find the offender, parents and teachers do 
not. The real instigators of mischief may often escape, 
while one who is comparatively innocent is punished. 
Then the greater offender may boast of his knavery 
and crafty cunning by which he avoided detection and 
escaped punishment. 

I was too smart for the teacher," is his boastful 
remark to admiring companions. 

This glorying in the little wrongs which children 
commit is a great and mischievous wrong which 
should be prevented. 



132 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



Another mode of controlling children is not uncom- 
mon. Some teachers have a startling faculty of "get- 
ting children under control." From being unruly in 
the extreme, a great roomful of them will yield like 
magic to the spell of a little woman with a pale face 
and peculiarly firm eyes. 

She has not the power to whip the smallest one of 
them, perhaps, and she does not need to resort to 
physical force; she is armed with a power more potent 
than the rod. Years ago, perhaps, she suffered intol- 
erably from criticisms made against her work because 
of " lack of control." During some sleepless night she 
made up her mind to " control these children at all 
hazards." She could not whip them; scolding did no 
good; so she resorted to force of will. She experi- 
mented systematically. Every morning she used her 
great force of will, and by practice became an expert 
in "switching off" each little individuality and en- 
throning her own will in place of that of each child. 

The next report of her work by the supervisor was, 
" Progressing finely," " Great improvement." Elated 
at her success, she went on strengthening her powers. 
Teachers were sent to her by the score to learn from 
her the secret of success. 

"I became doubtful of my method," remarked such 
a teacher, "when I noticed that many of the children, 
who had been perfect in their behavior under my in- 
fluence, became absolutely unmanageable under that 
of another teacher, who did not have my peculiar 
power, but was, in all other respects, a better teacher. 
After reading a book on hypnotism, I was forced to 
confess to myself that I had been, all unconsciously, 



School Government in Relation to Moral Training. 133 

using that power. Sometimes I had been almost 
startled at my success. But what should I have done 
these ten years without it, in the great, crowded, un- 
ruly schools, in the worst quarter of the city, which I 
have taught? I do not dare to think. I was forced 
to it by circumstances, and as long as conditions in 
our schools remain as they are, there will always be 
more or less of this force practiced upon the children. 
Our principal teacher at the model school was an ex- 
pert hypnotist. I see it now. She was not at all pop- 
ular, but she controlled every one who came within 
radius of her influence, exactly as I control these 
children." 

The question, then, is, " Has the teacher not the 
right to use her personal influence for good with the 
children?" In answer, we suggest that there are two 
kinds of personal influence. The one is the hypnotic 
power described above, which can only be harmful in 
its effect. The other is that peculiar wide-awake sym- 
pathy with child-life which keeps in mind always, 
even under the most trying circumstances, the child's 
right to his own individuality, and is determined not 
to rob him of it, but to arouse him to an appreciation 
of right. This will strengthen, not dethrone, his will; 
it convinces the child of the folly of wrong-doing, and 
teaches him how to dethrone within himself his inner 
enemies, — vice, untruthfulness, blind impulse, — and 
to chng with tenacity to his higher self only. This legiti- 
mate personal influence always appeals to the chilcVs 
highest motive. If this happens to be bodily pain, then 
tho teacher should not shrink from inflicting corporal 
punishment. Many teachers, who have a high ideal 



134 Moral Culture as a Science. 



in education, make the mistake of trying to appeal to 
children from their own highest motive, and feel con- 
science-smitten if forced to resort to a lower. They 
forget how limited the child's experience is. The ef- 
fect of a sound whipping inflicted just at the right 
time and in just the right way sometimes saves the 
child from its lowest possibilities and becomes the 
turning-point in its life. 

This question of school-government has been a per- 
plexing one to all educators. We have heard from 
the military disciplinarian, who would curb all sponta- 
neity with an iron hand, and also from extremists like 
Tolstoi, who denies to any one the right of resisting 
wrong. 

In some cities the experiment of separating the vi- 
cious children from the grades, and placing them in a 
room apart, under especially strong diciplinarians, 
was tried. This was effective in relieving the class 
teacher and making wrong-doing unpopular. 

The most hopeful movement, however, is that by 
which child-communities are made self-governing. 

About five years ago, William R. George founded his 
Junior Republic on a farm near New York City. The 
little citizens of this children's city were children from 
the New York slums. They organized as a city gov- 
ernment, and the result was like the discover}^ of a new 
force in physics, for it was found that within the chil- 
dren lies the power of self-government. 

The experiment is now being tried in some cities 
with marked success. 

In the average country school, where the community 
is not yet ready for anything so advanced, it will take 



School Government in Relation to Moral Training. 135 

some time before self-government can be introduced; 
but in the large child-communities of cities and towns^ 
dignified by the sanction of the school authorities, self- 
government promises to become an established institu- 
tion. 

It stands to reason that the young man and woman 
on entering life will remember the valuable training 
in the science of government which they may have re- 
ceived in such schools, and each will be a more law- 
abiding and law-enforcing citizen. 



CHAPTER III. 



THE ETHICAL IN OUR COMMON SCHOOL 
STUDIES. 

The work of the teacher in ethical training is usu- 
ally that of the sower; the harvest ripens in future 
years. Many times he may be discouraged, yet if he 
has done his part faithfully, he need not fear for re- 
sults. Thistles do not grow upon fig trees. 

The teacher must first of all try in every way to live 
true to his own best self, and remember to be ever con- 
sistent in his demands upon the children, trying al- 
ways to appeal to the child's best self. 

As Dr. Arnold worked without ceasing, that his pu- 
pils might "drink from a running brook, rather than 
from a stagnant pool," so must all teachers give 
themselves up to their work. This does not mean that 
they must overwork; on the contrary, they can only 
see the true significance of the many trifles which 
make up success in teaching, if the}^ are rested and 
physically in good condition; but they must subordi- 
date their own interests for the time being, and concen- 
trate all their faculties upon the interests of the chil- 
dren, not of the "school" taken collectively, but of 
each child taken individually. 

Ethical training is a help to the teacher, not an 
added burden. As the moral insight of the cliildren 
increases, it will give the teacher something to appeal 
to in them, and good order will be much more easily 

136 



The Ethical in our Common School Studies. 137 

maintained, as the good will of the children will be 
enlisted in its favor. 

If the teacher has aroused the latent scientist in 
every child, — the little truth-seeker who asks so eagerly 
for the "why" and the "wherefore," — they will delight 
in telling stories of observation, which they may have 
made. A little time spent each morning in telling 
observations made of the stars, a flower, what the dog 
did, the colors in the clouds reproduced in dashes of 
colored crayon, a noble deed, anything which they 
may have noticed as beautiful or helpful, will lead the 
children to observe and appreciate the beautiful and 
the good in common life. In this way language les- 
sons, both oral and written, will become much more 
interesting and spontaneous. If children have learned 
to think of arithmetic as the truthful study; that it 
never tells a falsehood, and can always be depended 
upon; if geography is to them the study of men, with 
the surroundings in which they live; if the human or 
vital interest in all lines of work has been emphasized, 
— it will have a distinctly ethical value. For instance, 
a class of children, after a preparatory lesson on draw- 
ing a spray of leaves, were urged to "tell the truth" in 
their work. Added to their knowledge of how to draw 
it was the desire to be truthful, and the result was 
charming. The lessons, moreover, went far beyond the 
physical and mental, into the region of the moral — the 
children were doing their best to be truthful. 

In our courses of study we usually overrate the chil- 
dren's power of application. They should be trained 
to concentrate upon the subjects in hand, but three 
hours a day of close application is all that an average 



138 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



child can endure without sooner or later giving way 
under the strain. 

Industry is habitual application, and children 
should form the habit of concentration; but we do not 
yet realize the limits of a child's endurance in this re- 
gard, and by our unreasonable demands upon them 
we overtax their strength, and nature urges them to 
rest; this we call idleness. 

All experienced teachers know how eagerly the 
children work during the morning hours; how easy it 
is to hold their attention. The struggle begins in the 
afternoon, when they are tired. It will be a happy 
day for childhood when schools are arranged with 
reference to nature's demands; when the legitimate 
desire for activity, which always follows a mental 
strain, will no longer be suppressed, as it is now; when, 
through the whole school life, the muscles of the body 
will be considered as worthy of development as the 
nerve-cells of the body; the muscle centers of the 
brain as worthy of attention as the thought centers. 

Useful employment has a most wholesome influence, 
mentally and morally, as well as physically. It gives 
them a happy sense of ownership in the skill of their 
hands and a desire to exercise this skill in their 
leisure hours. 

W. N. Kallmann, in his work on Primary Methods," 
happily expresses the result of hand-training. He 
says, "It enables the child to gain a knowledge which 
the current subjects of school instruction represent, in 
a manner more suited to his tastes and powers; in a 
complete, all-sided, active, ideal, child-life, in which 
he is upheld and strengthened by the constant joy of 
success, the steady glow of growing power." 



CHAPTER IV. 



REFLECTIONS, 

The Value of Time. The most precious thing in 
the world is a human life; its influence remains for- 
ever, either for good or evil. 

Since all progress has been made by means of the 
application of human time or thought to the powers of 
nature, we conclude that there must have been many 
more well-spent lives than lives badly spent. Some 
pessimists declare that there has been no progress; 
that the world was never yet as helpless against wrong, 
and that the majority of mankind were never yet so 
deplorably unhappy as now. But only a superficial 
student of history could hold this belief. Slowly, but 
surely, we are nearing the better time which is coming, 
when oppression and tyranny will be no more. Never 
before has religious fanaticism, for instance, been as 
little in evidence as now, and a human life has never 
been valued as highly as it is to-day. 

Much has been done, but there yet remains much to 
be accomplished. Society at large does not yet realize 
the wisdom of saving even human time — of making 
the most of every human life intrusted to it. Hence 
there is a deplorable waste of time. As a matter of 
economy, for instance, we give from forty to sixty 
children to be trained by one teacher, regardless of the 
fact that it is an absolute impossibility for one teacher 
to make the most of the time to sixty, or yet to thirty, 

139 



140 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



children; twenty should be the largest number ever 
assigned to one teacher. If the value of a human life 
were appreciated, we should have no slums in our 
cities, — in fact, we should probably not have cities as 
we have them now, swarming with men and v/omen 
whose lives seem worse than wasted. Yet all these 
depraved human beings were once innocent children, 
with an innate love for the good, as well as a strong in- 
clination toward evil. They were bountifully endowed 
by nature for usefulness and the happiness that a noble 
life-work brings to all. Neither they themselves, nor 
society at large, realized that they were the possessors 
of a priceless thing: a human lifetime, with all its 
marvelous possibilities. 

"0, for another lifetime!" cried the aged scientist. 
This man had learned to value the possibilities of 
time. But it is not often that we find one who does. 
Many men and women are engaged in "kilUng time." 
They are ''day-thieves," — tage-diehe, as the Germans 
express it. Even in this scientific nineteenth century, 
lives are thrown away as one tosses a pebble into the 
water; in this case each pebble is an uncut diamond of 
priceless worth. With this keen appreciation of the 
possibilities of each life at heart, the teacher's own at- 
titude toward his work and toward each child will 
change. He will see to it, if it be possible, that the 
children's work shall be such as shall prepare them for 
life, physically, mentally, and morally. 

The kindergarten is designed to employ the irre- 
pressible play-spirit of the young child, and lead it so 
that it may be the means of a beautiful development. 
The true kindergarten trains the powers of observa- 



Reflections, 



141 



tion, concentration, and, above all, the imagination. 
When kindergarten conditions prevail in all our schools, 
as regards time of study, number of children assigned 
to each teacher, and materials furnished for work, the 
children will astonish this dull old world by their 
"marvelous" progress. 

The modern spirit of research in all departments of 
science is of comparatively recent date. We no longer 
try to fit our observations into preconceived ideas of 
truth, but we let nature speak for herself. 

"An experiment is a question put to nature," says 
an eminent physicist. "We call her answer a phe- 
nomenon." Students are every day putting their 
questions more intelligently to nature, and are receiv- 
ing answers ever more wonderful. 

Child-study is that department of science which 
gives human nature a chance to speak for itself. In 
many universities we find leaders in this new depart- 
ment of science. Thousands of teachers in active ser- 
vice in our schools are being helped by university ex- 
tension lectures and courses in educational reading to 
understand the children under their care. 

The teacher who is willing to study each child in a 
spirit of scientific humility, who realizes that the no- 
blest study of man is man, will come to know the 
wondrous possibilities, yet, at the same time, the great 
limitations, of childhood. Children do not know; they 
must be taught. Therefore, impatience toward them for 
not knowing more, or anger at their learning so slowly, 
is cruelty. The finest minds often comprehend with 
difficulty, and the most promising children are some- 
times awkward in attempting to apply the newly ac- 
quired knowledge. 



142 



Moral Culture as a Science, 



In our work with children, patience never ceases to 
be a virtue. " When your patience is worn threadbare, 
darn it," is the good advice of one who knew. Patience 
must, however, never be confounded with weakness. 
Firm demands upon the child's best efforts should al- 
ways be made, and they will be all the more cheerfully 
fulfilled if they are made in the spirit of kindness. 

When the teacher has learned to assume the student 
attitude toward all children, he will find it much less 
difficult to control the impatient gesture or facial ex- 
pression, the high-pitched voice or angry tone. We 
teach as much by what we are as by what we do. 

Even if teaching may not be the ideal life-work of 
which we have dreamed, if the machinery of systems 
and the sordid question of position and remuneration 
have somewhat dampened our enthusiasm, we can yet, 
if we will, make it the means of the noblest inner 
growth to ourselves, and a life-work which will not die 
with us. 

Patience, perseverance, consistency in our demands 
from day to day, sympathy, consideration, cheerful- 
ness, industry, and a constant effort to see the motives 
of others, to see ourselves and all things as others see 
them, — these are some of the qualities developed in a 
good teacher. 

By studying others we can know ourselves. By 
studying ourselves we know others. Even the teacher 
in the humblest country school may, if he will, be a 
scientist in the best sense of the word, — a student of 
men and a builder of character. 

We have often heard that the teacher makes the 
school. This is true in a great measure, but a fevv^ 



Reflections. 



143 



words on the other side of the question are pertinent 
in this connection. 

On the all-important first day, for instance, the 
teacher is confronted by a wriggling mass of American 
juvenility, ranging in number from thirty to sixty. It 
has been said that there is ''enthusiasm in numbers 
that good work can be done under any and all condi- 
tions, etc. 

" Good work" is a relative term; and judging from the 
scathing criticisms which Dr. J. M. Rice and President 
Eliot of Harvard have made upon the schools of the 
United States, the work with large numbers has been 
anything but satisfactory. 

Class-work can never be ideal work; a " study group" 
should be the nearest approach to it; with large num- 
bers, only class- work can be done; the demands of the 
individual must be subordinated to the general needs 
of the many. 

All this cannot be helped, we are told; there is no 
country in which the masses are as well educated as in 
ours; that it is unjust to our taxpayers to spend more 
money on our schools, etc. A prominent authority 
says that the average city spends about as much for 
the education of her children as she does for soda-water 
and ice-cream! And this is spent by men who do not 
always apply rational business methods to school 
affairs. The waste of funds in many cases would not 
be tolerated an instant by a business man in a private 
enterprise. 

However discouraging educational conditions may 
be, we should remember that we are living in a time 
of change, and with the adjustment of economic con- 



144 



Moral Culture as a Science. 



ditions, educational matters will improve. The anx- 
ious question will not much longer be, " What will it 
cost? " but " What do we want? " Americans, as a 
sovereign people, do not have to wait long, when once 
they know what they want. 

An educational "castle in Spain" as an approxi- 
mation of what we want might be of interest in this 
connection. From without our castle is a pleasant, 
unostentatious building, surrounded by large grounds. 
Within, we find the rooms light, airy, and homelike, 
with comfortable seats for perhaps twenty children. 

Out on the spacious grounds are the workshops, 
laboratories, gymnasium, and game-grounds, of various 
kinds. 

The children spend the vigorous morning hours in 
concentrated mental work. After the lunch, which is 
served hot in the school dining-room, where children 
learn the simple amenities of the table and the homely 
arts of cooking and serving, the siesta or playtime 
follows. Then the manual work begins; all children 
go to their respective places in workshop, laboratory, 
sewing-room, or gymnasium. Boys and girls receive 
the same instruction, and the desire of all instructors 
is to give each individual the best possible chance for 
development. 

However far from realization our estimate may be, 
we are as yet in the old conditions. A teacher may be 
ever so earnest and take the deepest interest in the 
children, yet the educational problems before him are 
discouraging. 

There is a churlish boy who is half asleep because 
he has been carrying papers since three o'clock in the 



Reflections, 145 



morning; the pale little girl, who is learning to raise 
her eyebrows in premature anxiety, is preoccupied be- 
cause she is thinking of her mother away trying to get 
work, as her father has been "laid off"; the boy with 
his head tied up is suffering with an ulcerated tooth 
because there is no money to pay the dentist; here is 
a child habitually overfed and spoiled until it has be- 
come inordinately selfish and sluggish, — these every- 
day problems of individual cases are constantly pre- 
senting themselves to the teacher. 

Yet as he looks into the many faces turned toward 
him, he feels inspired to do his best, whatever the 
conditions may be. If he can make the children feel 
that " our difficulties are our opportunities," he has 
done much. He knows that the little hearts love 
right-doing, or righteousness; that they turn to the 
good as the daisy turns to the sun; that the most 
gratefully remembered work will be that which he may 
do for them in helping them to live a true life. Long 
after the good cook of their childhood, the patient 
slave of the needle, or the best teacher of arithmetic 
and grammar, are forgotten, they will think of that 
man or woman who directed them to the unchanging 
moral and ethical truths of life. Food and clothing, 
arithmetic and grammar, then become merely the 
means to the end of noble living. 



APPENDIX. 



A FEW Stories for children are added to further illus- 
trate a method of presenting moral truths. It will be 
noted that the moral is not a thing apart from the 
story. As in the " novel with a purpose," taken from 
life to illustrate moral truths for children of a larger 
growth, these simple illustrations from child-life are 
planned to serve the same purpose, in their way. 

Inspiring thoughts of great men may be used as 
themes for ethical lessons with older children. A few 
of these are presented for that purpose. 

147 



MARTIN'S THINKING. 



" Martin, will you remember to bring some straw- 
berries from Mr. HalPs, on your way home from school ? " 
said Mrs. Bell, one day, when her son was leaving for 
school. " Remember, now, I shall need them for 
shortcake. Aunt Anna is coming for dinner this even- 
ing, and she is so fond of shortcake, you know." 

" Yes, I '11 remember. I 'm fond of shortcake too," 
Martin said, laughing, as he started for school. 

But he played ball as he went along the street on 
his way home, and he did not think of the berries until 
his mother said, " Well, where are the berries? " 

0, I forgot them! I'll go back and get them as 
quickly as I can! " and Martin was off again. 

Mamma, I had to have my brains in my feet, 
again, that time," said Martin, running up with the 
berries. "I ran all the way! Is it too late for the 
shortcake? " 

" I think not, if you will help me pick them over, " 
said his mother. 

Martin put his mother's kitchen apron around his 
neck, rolled up his sleeves, and after washing his 
hands, he went to work picking over the berries. 

His mother took a handful of berries from the dish. 
" We will lay these aside to eat when we are through," 
she said; "but we must not touch a single one now." 

" Did 3^ou ever know that your mind can do different 
kinds of thinking? " asked Mrs. Bell presently. " You 

149 



150 



Appendix. 



can do two kinds of thinking very well, but there is 
one kind of thinking which you do not do well at all." 

"What kind is that?" asked Martin. ''It's the 
kind of thinking which you did not do on your way 
home from school," said she. 

"0, remembering! " said Martin. 

" Yes, we might call it rem ember-thinking. You 
have a very poor memory. I want you to do your 
best, Martin, to train yourself in this kind of thinking, 
because terrible things may happen when people 
forget. 

" When I was a little girl, I knew a big boy, George 
Warner, who worked in the roundhouse where the 
engines were kept. When an engine went in to be 
cleaned, all the water which was left in the boiler 
was emptied into a pit. 

" It was George's work to open and close these pits. 
One day a boiler full of hot water had been emptied 
and there was a great deal of steam. George was 
speaking with another boy, and forgot to close the pit. 

" The foreman, in making his rounds, went through 
the steam, and fell into the pit of boiling water. You 
know what happened, Martin. He died that night, 
and George has been a most unhappy man. He never 
could forget that he had caused his old friend's death. 

" You forgot the berries, but you brought them in 
time, and we laughed about it, because it did not matter 
much; but it may matter very much some time, when 
you are trusted to do real work in the world. Now is 
the time to train your memory to do its part of your 
brain- work." 

Martin was very sober. After a pause he said, 
'' Mamma, what kinds of thinking can I do better? " 



Marthi's Thinking. 



151 



" Before I answer that question, tell me what you 
had in your arithmetic class to-day." 

0, we had a fine example! I got it without help. 
A tank holds forty gallons of water, and one pipe runs 
in water at the rate of twelve gallons a minute, an- 
other runs it out at the rate of eight gallons a minute, 
how long before the tank is full? " 

" How did you do it ? " asked his mother. 

" You see, I thought how much more goes into the 
tank than out; that must fill the tank: it is four gal- 
lons every minute. Then it will take as many minutes 
to fill the tank as four is contained times in forty, 
which is ten times. 

" Mary Hall and I were the only ones in the class 
who thought it out alone. Then the teacher told us 
to think out an example which would empty the 
tank. Of course, if the tank is full, and eight gallons 
run in and twelve run out every minute, the tank will 
be empty in ten minutes." Martin liked arithmetic 
better than any other study, and always told his 
mother the new examples. 

" Now I can answer your question about the other 
kind of thinking, " she said, smiling. " You say, ' If 
this fills the tank, then that must empty it or you 
might say, ' If four times five are twenty, than five 
times four must be twenty ' ; that is called working- 
thinking or reasoning. You reason very well, but you 
must do all kinds of thinking well if you want to 
have a good mind." 

" AVhatis another kind of thinking? " asked Martin. 
We will speak about that some other time, my 
boy. Now you may go and see that the dining-room is 



152 



Appendix, 



aired and the table is set. It is a comfort to have you 
to help me. Here are your berries." Martin took the 
berries and put the largest one into his mother's mouth. 
Then he went to work in the dining-room. 

Martin knew just how his mother liked to have the 
table set, and he took care to forget nothing. When 
he had finished, his mother came in. " Why, Martin, 
the table is beautiful," she said. " You have used 
your memory well this time. I see nothing forgotten, 
even the roses are in the center of the table, where I 
like them. 

" I want to train my mind to do all kinds of think- 
ing, mamma," said Martin, laughing. 

One day Martin lay on the grass under the apple 
tree. He saw the white clouds passing along the blue 
sky, and wondered how many leaves there were on the 
tree. 

After looking at them in a lazy way, he thought 
that the leaves changed their color and shape. In- 
stead of being green and pointed, they were large 
golden coins — twenty dollars, every one of them I 

He sprang up, and climbed the tree to pick them. 
Then he found that if he merely shook the limbs, the 
money fell in showers on the ground. 

Soon the grass was covered with gold, and the tree 
was bare. Martin climbed down in such a hurry that 
he almost fell. Then he went to the wood-house and 
brought out some bags and the wheelbarrow, and 
picked up all the money. 

He lifted a bagful of gold upon the wheelbarrow 
and took it to the bank; there were six loads of it. 



Martinis Thinhingo 



153 



The banker stared in wonder at the loads of gold. 
But Martin looked wise and said, " Never mind." 

Then he took a handful of the money and went to 
town to buy a bicycle. Next he mounted his wheel 
and fairly flew home and told his mother all about it. 

But he could not rest, he felt so rich and happ3^ 
Soon he was down in the harbor, where the ships and 
yachts were lying at anchor. 

Here he saw a large steam-yacht, just like Mr. 
Samson's, in which Martin had once had a ride. It 
did not take him long to buy the yacht, and as soon 
as he had paid for it, he ordered the captain to get 
ready to put to sea. 

She was a beautiful little vessel, and large enough 
to cross the ocean. He now hurried home, and on the 
way back he asked some of his chums to take a cruise 
around the world with him. 

Before he started on his long voyage he gave his 
mother and father thousands and thousands of dol- 
lars. Then he set out with his friends upon their 
jolly trip. 

The captain and the sailors could tell just such 
stories as boys like. It did not seem long before they 
arrived in China. Then they went to India, Africa, 
Rome, Paris, and London. 

The captain had been in London many times, so he 
acted as their guide. When Martin was enjoying the 
sights of that great city, he heard a voice that he knew 
very well. 

"Martin! Martin!" called his mother. ''What 
are you doing out there?" Martin found himself 
looking at the green leaves of the tree again. 



154 



Appendix. 



He was sorry to come back from his cruise around 
the world, and felt a little cross. He had often taken 
trips before, but this had been such a very pleasant 
one. 

"What were you doing just now?" asked his 
mother again, as Martin came up. She sat on the 
cool back porch, shelling peas for dinner. 

"0, nothing," answered Martin. 

" Were you really doing nothing at all ? " 

" 0, I was looking at the leaves, and wondering 
how many there were," replied Martin. 

" What more were you thinking ? " His mother 
looked so smiling and sweet that Martin felt ashamed 
of his bad humor. Then he sat down beside her and 
helped her shell peas. While they were busy he 
told her the story of his cruise around the world. 

" Well, well, you let your mind run just like a colt 
in the pasture!" she said, laughing, when he had 
finished. 

"Do you remember the different kinds of think- 
ing ? " she went on. 

" 0, yes, of course, " said Martin. " I ' ve been trying 
to remember ever since." 

" What you were doing just now was the other kind 
of thinking," said his mother. " It was picture-think- 
ing. Your mind made wonderful pictures for you." 

" You told me that I could do two kinds of think- 
ing well. One is the working-thinking and this is 
picture-thinking." 

" Yes, working-thinking is reasoning. Picture- 
thinking is imagining. The part of the brain which 
does this kind of thinking is called the imagination. 



Martin'' s Thinking. 



155 



" You are doing very well in your remembering too. I 
hope, Martin, that you will soon be strong in all your 
thinking." 

Martin helped his mother about the dinner as usual. 
When they were at the table, she told him to tell his 
father about his trip around the world. His father 
laughed, as his mother had done when she had heard 
it. 

"Yes; Martin has a good picture-maker in his 
head," he said; and I believe he has sense enough 
not to let this little fellow do too much of his brain- 
work. If you did, you would soon be a day-dreamer. 

" Our reason should always do the greater part of 
our brain-work. The memory, too, should be trained 
to do its part well. It would not do for me, in my 
business, to forget; the memory must do its part, for 
only by remembering the lessons which we learn, can 
we become better and wiser. 

" But the imagination is good in its place; it helps 
the other two. When you read a good story, pictures 
arise before you. When you study about other coun- 
tries and peoples, you seem to see them. 

" In this way the imagination is a great help to us, 
and a person who has a poor imagination, and does 
not see these mind-pictures, loses much pleasure. 

" But we must be very careful to keep it in our 
power. Some people let their imagination run wild, 
and it unfits them for any good work." 

"I am glad that I know about it," said Martin; 
" now I will watch myself." 



COBWEBS. 



Part I. 

It was a pleasant summer morning, and Mary had 
gone all over the garden again and again, and had at 
last lain down beside the bluebells under the apple tree. 

" Mary, Mary," called her mother; "come in and 
help me." 

It was not a very loud call, and Mary said to her- 
self, " Mamma does not know that I heard her, so I 
will stay here, for it is nicer here than in the house, 
dusting and washing dishes." 

Just then she heard a little tinkle from a bluebell 
near-by, and a beautiful fairy stood before her, and 
said, " I am your fairy godmother, Mary, and I have 
come to give you a present. Here is a pair of spec- 
tacles; they are so fine that they cannot be seen when 
you wear them, but they will show you wonderful 
things." 

Mary was not at all afraid of her fairy godmother, 
for she had always hoped some day to see her. " 0, 
thank you," said she; " what shall I see through them? 
Will they show me the gold and diamonds in the 
ground, that Aladdin saw? " 

"You will see when you wear them; but before I 
put them on, you must promise not to take them off. 
When it is time, I will take them off myself. Do you 
promise? " 

" Yes, yes, I promise," said Mary, and she held her 
head very still while the fairy put on the glasses. 

156 



Cobwebs. 



157 



But what was the matter? Mary looked at herself 
in fear and disgust, for she was covered all over with 
strings and cords of cobweb; some were large and 
strong, while others were fine and silky. The largest 
and oldest were thick and strong, and held her bound 
very tight. 

" 0, what is the matter with me?" cried Mary, in 
alarm; " I am all covered and tied up with these dirty 
cobwebs! How did they get on me? Where did they 
come from? " 

The cobwebs that you see, Mary, are there all the 
time/' said the fairy. " You have not seen them be- 
fore, but we fairies always see them." 

" But what are they? How did they get on me? " 
cried Mary again. 

All these cobwebs are habits, Mary. This large 
dusty cord is one that has been there a long time, grow- 
ing thicker every day. It is your worst habit. 

" For years you have let it grow, because you did 
not know it was there. It is your habit of not coming 
when you are called. This habit began when you 
were only two years old. I saw it the first day, when 
it was fine and silky. I could not come to you then, 
because you were not old enough to understand. Now 
you are eight years old, and it was time that you should 
see how you really look." 

" What is this big cobweb? " said Mary, crying, and 
pulling at one near her neck. 

" That is this habit of telling lies. Just now, when 
you heard your mother call, you made up your mind 
to let her think that you had not heard her. When 
you make any one think what is not true, you lie. You 



158 



Appendix, 



gee; the lie you thought made this cobweh grow thicker 
and stronger. 

" Then you thought if your mother should say, 
' Mary, I called you a long time ago; did you not hear 
me? ' you meant to answer, ' 0, did you call me? I 
was so far away, that I did not hear you.' And the 
thought of that lie also added a thread to this ugly 
cord." 

Mary was a sorry-looking little girl when she asked, 
i Please, tell me what this is." It was a large cord 
that went right across her mouth. 

"That is the habit of 'talking back' to your mother 
and father. You do this most to your mother. She 
loves you and wants to make a good girl of you; yet 
when you do wrong, and she tells you of it, you are 
very saucy, and even say to yourself, ' I know better 
than mamma does.' " 

0, what shall I do? " cried Mary, pulling at the 
cords. ''What shall I do? Can I never get them off ? " 

"It is not so bad as that," said the fairy, with a 
cheerful tinkle in her voice. " Now that you know 
about them, if you really want to break these cords, 
you can." 

" O, tell me how ! Show me how ! " cried Mary. 

" I will help you, if you want me to, by showing 
you how to get rid of them, but you will have to do 
the work yourself," said the fairy. 

"Yes, yes; show me how to get them off now ! I 
^ don't want all these nasty things holding me so 
tight!" cried Mary, in disgust. 

" Mary, these great cords have been growing there 
for years. You cannot tear them at once," said the 



Cobwebs. 



159 



fairy. " To tear the large cords through, you must 
tear the little threads that make them up, one by 
one. But you must think of these smaller ones too, 
or they will become just as strong as the larger ones." 

^' This fine one, between the thumb and first finger, 
is a habit which just lately began. You see it has 
not many threads yet. It is the habit of taking sugar 
from the sugar-bowl, or cake from the cake-box, or 
anything else that you may see." 

"0, show me how to tear it now, please," said Mary. 

" You cannot break a single thread until the next 
time that you have a chance to take something. If 
you take it then, a thread will be added to these; if 
you do not, it will tear a thread away. 

" You see, every wrong action weaves a single 
thread; but actions done over and over again become 
habits; and habits grow stronger and stronger. 
Habits begin as threads of cobweb, and end as iron 
chains." 

The fairy now showed Mary another large cobweb. 
" This is your temper," she said. " And it is large 
and strong. Kemember, in breaking the other cob- 
webs, not to get angry if it takes a long time. Every 
time that you get angry, you add a thread to this 
cord." 

I will be careful," said Mary, with tears in her 
eyes. " Please help me." 

" If you want to get rid of these cords, you must 
use every chance that you see, to break the threads. 
Here is one of which you can break a thread now." 

"Which one is that? What must I do?" cried 
Mary. 



160 



Appendix. 



It is this habit of not coming when you are 
called; your mother called you just now. Go in and 
help her as she wants you to." 

" And must I leave you? " said Mary. 

" If you do not leave me, you will add another thread 
to the cord, instead of breaking one," said the fairy. 

" Then I will go," said Mary slowly. 

" That is right," said the fairy, " and come back to 
the bluebells this afternoon, when your work is done," 
and with a little tinkle the fairy was gone. 

Part IL 

When Mary reached the bluebells in the afternoon, 
she expected to find the fairy there. She was very 
happy, for she saw that the web between her thumb 
and forefinger had lost several threads, as had also 
the one across her mouth, and she wanted to tell the 
fairy about it. 

But no fairy was to be seen. She wandered about 
for a while, looking for her, and at last sat down to 
wait; but the longer she waited, the more impatient 
she became. The words of the fairy had been an in- 
vitation. Mary thought it meant a promise to meet 
her; then why did she not keep her promise? She 
was getting very angry, and thought of going away. 

Then she remembered what the fairy had said 
about her temper, and she looked for that web. Yes, 
— sure enough, — a fine new thread was forming on it. 

"O, I must not get angry; I must be patient," she 
said to herself. So she lay down under the apple 
tree in the grass, to wait quietly until the fairy should 



Cohwehs. 



161 



come. " And if she does not come," she thought, " it 
will be because she thinks it best, and I will be care- 
ful not to be cross about it." 

At first her ears were open to every little sound, 
listening for the fairy-bell. But presently she began 
to think about her work that morning, — how pleased 
her mother had been, and how much pleasure it had 
given herself, — and she made up her mind to go in 
before her mother called her, to help about the sup- 
per. She had quite forgotten the fairy when she was 
aroused by the silvery tinkle of her bell, and the 
fairy stood before her. 

''You have done well, — very well, — Mary," said 
the fairy. " Now I will both help and reward you by 
taking you on a fairy trip with me, to show you some 
things we fairies see." 

She put a cap on Mary's head. " Now no one can 
see you, or hear you speak," she said. Then she 
touched Mary's feet with her wand, and the two 
floated away through the air. It was delightful for 
Mary to float high above flowers and trees, and yet to 
feel as safe as on the ground. 

" Here is a pair of glasses belonging to the fairy 
godmother of old Jack Hooker," said the fairy. " You 
know that every one, even an old drunkard like Jack, 
has a fairy godmother; and she loves him just as 
much as I love you." 

" Then why did she not let Jack wear the glasses?" 
asked Mary. 

" She did," was the sad reply; "but when he saw the 
cobwebs about him he said, " O, these are only a few 
cobwebs; I can brush them off when I want to." But 



162 



Appendix. 



they grew stronger and stronger, and now you shall 
see how an old drunkard like Jack looks to us." 

She put Jack's glasses on Mary, right over her own. 
Mary could now see all of Jack's habits. 

The poor old man was pruning trees in Banker 
Dollard's orchard. Great iron chains bound him and 
made every movement hard and painful. Mary could 
even see his thoughts while he was working. " When 
I am through with this, I shall get a dollar and a 
half," he was thinking; " then I will get my jug filled, 
and drink, drink, drink! " 

Mary could see one of the chains grow shorter and 
thicker as he thought this, until it nearly choked him, 
and he almost screamed with thirst. " 0, can nobody 
help him?" cried Mary, the tears rolling down her 
cheeks. 

He can never be helped," said the fairy, until he 
sees the chains which bind him, and really wants to 
break them. His fairy godmother is a friend of mine. 
She is often sad about him. I am glad that you want 
to help him. Perhaps some time you may." 

/'Now we will see Banker Dollard," she went on; 
" and his fairy has also given me his glasses, so that 
you may see what his habits are." 

They entered the private room of the bank where 
Mr. Dollard sat at his desk. His fingers, hands, arms, 
and even his brain and heart, were loaded down with 
great iron chains. 

" You see he is worse than poor, weak Jack," said 
the fairy. " He is seventy years old, and for fifty years 
he has thought of nothing but money, money, money. 
His mother and father lost their son when he began 



Cobwebs. 



16a 



to love money. He did not help them, and they died 
poor. His wife was most unhappy, for her husband 
loved only money; even for his only son he had no 
smiles. The poor boy has lived a sad life in the grand 
house which he called home, because there was no love 
to warm it." 

A poorly dressed man, with a worried, tired face, 
entered the room where the banker sat at his desk. 

0, Mr. Dollard," he said, trembling, " they are go- 
ing to take my farm away from me to-day unless I 
pay them! Please lend me five hundred dollars. It 
is so little to you, and it will save my dear old home." 

Mary could see the chain around the banker's heart 
draw closer around it, until the heart was as hard as 
stone; when she looked into his face she saw that he 
was very pale, — almost blue he seemed to her. 

Well, how do you expect to pay me back? " he 
asked with a cold smile. 

" I will pay you as soon as my crops are harvested. 
I have good crops in the field; they will more than 
pay it back." 

" We cannot trust to crops," was the unkind an- 
swer; a year ago you gave a thousand dollars to save 
a neighbor's home. He has not paid you; now you 
will lose your own home. You were very unwise. 
' Every man for himself,' is my motto. " With this 
the banker turned to his work again. 

As the farmer was about to leave the room, another 
man entered. " Why, how do you do, Mr. Goodman? " 
he said, taking the farmer's hand. " It is a long time 
since I have seen you! " 

" Yes, Mr. Moore, I have been very hard at work. 



164 



Appendix. 



I have not had time to see my friends. But now they 
are going to take my farm, after all my hard work." 

" Why, what is the matter? " asked Mr. Moore. So 
the farmer told him all ahont his trouble. 

Mr. Moore turned to the banker. " How is this? 
Cannot you help him? " he asked. 

" He has nothing but his crops to pay his debts; 
they may fail, and I can take no risks." 

" Very well, then I will take the risk and give him 
what he needs," said Mr. Moore. 

Mary and the fairy now left the banker's room, and 
the fairy said, " Mr. Moore and Mr. Goodman are 
ver}^ good men, each in his own way. When they 
were young, long before the habits of their lives were 
hard as iron, their fairy godmothers gave them their 
glasses, and v/hen they saw their danger, as you did 
yours, they went to work, slowly and carefully, to 
break the cords which were beginning to bind them. 
Mr. Moore is a rich man who helps others as much as 
he can. Mr. Goodman is not rich, but he, too, does 
what he can. So each has kept himself free from the 
chains which bind so many people, and keep them 
from doing good in the world." 

" I like them both," said Mary, " and I want to 
learn to be kind and helpful, as they are." 

" Yes, and remember that every great thing begins 
as a small thing. The oak is large and strong and 
gives shade to many, but it was once an acorn. If 
children begin in their homes to be kind and true and 
faithful, they will be ready for greater work when 
the}^ are men and women," said the fairy. " Now we 
will go to see Mrs. Woods." So the two floated away. 



Cobwebs. 



165 



Mrs. Woods was one of the richest women in the 
town. When Mary looked at her through the glasses, 
she saw great chains on her too. " You see the largest 
chain is her habit of telling false stories about other 
people," said the fairy. "Sometimes there is a little 
truth in them, and sometimes there is no truth at all. 
If she wished, she might break her chains, thread by 
thread; but, like Jack and the banker, she does not 
want to do this." 

" There is still another woman whom I want you to 
see, for you always want so much to be beautiful. 
Now you shall see what a beauty may come to, unless 
she is very careful. It is harder for a beautiful girl 
or woman to keep off the cobwebs than for others." 

When they entered the house where Mrs. Pratt 
lived, they found her before a mirror, trying on a 
beautiful gown she intended to wear that evening. 
Her children sat around, sad and quiet; they did not 
dare to disturb their mother. 

If Mary had seen her without her glasses, she would 
have thought that such a lovely woman must be 
good too; but the glasses told a sad story of selfish- 
ness and vanity. She was thinking only of herself, 
and was nodding and smiling at her image in the 
glass. Mary could see her think, " I shall be the 
most beautiful woman at the ball; every one will 
come to dance with me." 

To Mary she looked awful as she smiled under the 
dirty cobwebs that covered her face, and hung in 
chains around her. " 0, if she could only see herself 
as she is," she sighed, " all her pride would be gone, 
and she would try to break these chains. Her poor 
children, how unhappy they must be!" 



166 



Appendix. 



"She has worn her glasses, you msij be sure; but 
she did not want to see these chains. She wanted to 
have pleasure, and thought that the duties at home 
were dull. To-night she will leave her tired husband 
at home to care for the children, while she will go to 
the ball with a friend." 

They left the vain woman still nodding and smiling 
at her image in the mirror. Mary left with a heavy 
heart. She was so sorry for the little children! As 
she passed the clock, she saw that it was almost time 
to go home and help her mother with the supper. 

" Now, please, dear godmother, it is almost time for 
me to be at home to help mother. If Mrs. Pratt for- 
gets her children, it makes me think that it is just as 
bad to forget my mother. I will try never to neglect 
any one again." 

"I hoped you would sa}^ what you did, Mary," said 
the fairy. "You will soon be free, I am sure. You 
are in earnest abou^ getting these cords off! 

"I am glad that you want to do all you can for 
your mother too. She is beautiful to fairies! She 
may look wrinkled and tired to others, but we see 
her as she is, and she is lovel}"!" 

" 0, I know; she is the best and dearest mother in 
the world, and I am going to try to make her happy! " 
cried Mary. 

"You are safe, Mary, and I am very happy. Re- 
member to be careful not to lose your temper while 
you work to make yourself free. I will come to see 
you again," said the fairy; "but for this time I must 
sa}" good by!" 

Mary heard the fairy tinkle, and found herself in 
the grass near the bluebells again. 



Cobwebs. 



167 



She ran into the house and went to work. Slowly 
and carefully she began to tear the heavy cords. She 
did right, where she had done wrong before; she was 
cheerful, where she had pouted. 

Her mother was surprised at the change in her little 
daughter. Mary was so willing and cheerful about 
her work, she seemed to be trying to forget herself 
and think only of others. 

Soon the sadness in the mother's face was almost 
gone, because her heart kept singing, " I have a dear 
little child! Her life is a blessing to me, and will be 
a blessing to all who come near her." 

And the fairy found a happy, free little girl when 
she came to see Mary, a year later, when the bluebells 
were m blossom again. 



THE MINER'S SON. 



Far under the ground was the home of little Hans. 
He had always lived there, because his father had 
been a miner, and his mother had lived in the mine 
too. 

Many people lived down in this beautiful salt mine; 
for years and years they never saw the sunlight, be- 
cause it took a long time to go up, and they were poor. 

The children of the miners played together under 
the large lamps that were kept burning night and day. 

The walls and pillars that held up the earth above 
them were made of shining rock-salt, which shone like 
diamonds in the light. 

Little Hans was very lonely sometimes. His mother 
had died when he was only three years old, and his 
father was killed in the mine a year later; the miners 
all liked Hans and let him grow up with their children, 
but sometimes the poor boy longed to have some one 
who cared for him. 

Hans had a httle box in which he kept his things. 
Among these was a Noah's-ark, with houses, and trees, 
and cows, and sheep, and men and women. His father 
had given it to Hans not long before he died. 

Hans had played with these wonderful wooden trees 
and animals for years. He had wondered what the 
world above looked like, and he wished so much to 
see it. 

One day, when Hans was ten years old, the priest 
168 



The Miner^s Son. 



169 



came down into the mine. He spoke kindly to all 
the hard-working miners and their wives, and brought 
a little cross and beads to all the children. Then he 
stayed to teach them. 

Hans was a bright boy, and the priest liked him 
very much. 

" Who is your father, my boy?" he said, kindly, to 
Hans one day, when the lesson was over; " I want to 
speak with him about you.'' 

Poor little Hans had a lonesome heart, and tears 
came into his eyes as he told his story to the priest. 
" Is there not some uncle or aunt who would care for 
you and send you to school? asked the priest kindly. 

" I don't know," Hans replied; " ask Mother Minta; 
maybe she knows. She saw my father die." 

Mother Minta knew nothing about the family, but 
gave the priest some letters which had been left by 
Hans's parents. 

The priest took the letters and promised Hans that 
he would try to find out something about his people. 
He kissed the little boy on his white forehead when 
he left to go up to the great busy world above. 

When Father Stephen, the kind priest, returned 
after three days, he told Hans that he had found his 
grandmother, who was very glad to hear that her 
little grandson was living, and wished to see him very 
much. 

He told Hans to be ready to go up with him the 
next day. Hans was wild with delight, but the priest 
told him to say nothing to the other children about 
it, because it would make them unhappy. It is the 
great wish of these little children to see the sunlight 



170 



Appendix. 



and the blue sky and the green fields, of which they 
have heard so much, and Father Stephen was sorry 
that he could not take them all. 

The next day Hans said " good by " to all the 
people, very quietly, while the priest stood near, wait- 
ing for him; only his shining eyes told how happy he 
was. 

The good people were sorry to lose Hans, and they 
told the priest what a good boy he was. Some of his 
playmates were very sorry, and it made Hans feel 
sad, too, when he said " good by " to them. 

Up, up, up they went, through the shaft. At last 
a queer light was seen, and the car stopped. The 
priest helped Hans out. Now, in the daylight, he 
noticed how very white the little boy was. 

''Where is the sun?" asked Hans, when they 
reached the top of the long shaft. The priest led him 
out of the station-house, and said, " This is a cloudy 
day, my boy, and the sun cannot be seen, but all the 
light which you see is from the sun. It is well for 
you that the sun is not shining, for your eyes might 
be harmed by the bright light." The priest knew 
that he would have many questions to answer. 

Hans looked with wondering eyes at the sky, with 
the clouds rolling by, and the broad green earth, with 
the blue mountains in the distance. 

For a time his heart was too full to speak. All his 
life he had dreamed of seeing the earth, and now he 
was so surprised to find everything so different from 
what he thought it would be. 

" Is it as beautiful as you thought it would be?" 
asked Father Stephen, at last. 



The Miner's Son, 



171 



It is so wide; I did not think it would be so," re- 
plied Hans. "All the people must be very happy 
who live in this wide earth. I feel the wind; every- 
thing moves. Oj I think it is so good of you to bring 
me! " 

" What is that? " he asked, pointing to a large tree. 

" That is a tree," was the reply. 

" But it moves and swings. Will it fall? " 

''No; it has great roots, which hold it in the ground; 
then the trunk holds it up and the wind moves the 
limbs." 

" What is that moving up in the sky? " he asked 
next. 

" Those are clouds. The wind moves them." 

" Nobody ever told me about the clouds!" mused 
Hans, as he followed them with his eyes. " And the 
cloth on the ground, what is that for?" he went on, 
pointing to the grass. 

" We will look at it," said the priest. He kneeled 
down, and pulled some to show Hans how it grew in 
the ground. *' This is grass," he said; " it covers the 
earth and makes it bright and beautiful. Many 
animals eat it. God makes everything beautiful; 
even every little blade of grass is beautiful." 

" O, I am glad to see it. I feel the wind all the 
time, and I can breathe better! " 

They walked down through the village to the tavern. 
All the people who saw them knew that the priest 
was taking a little boy from the mines for the first 
time in his life, and they looked at Hans kindly, and 
smiled. Hans never forgot the kind smiles, and he 
did not wonder that the people could be happy up 
here in the lovely world. 



172 



Appendix. 



''That is a cow: it has horns. O, how big it is! 
Don't they sometimes eat people? " said Hans. 

"No; cows eat only plants. They like grass; you 
may see her eat this." He gave the cow a handful of 
grass, and Hans watched her eat. " You see, they 
give us milk, and butter, and cheese; they are very 
good and gentle animals when we treat them kindly." 

" 0, what is that?" cried Hans, holding the priest's 
hand very closely. 

" That will not hurt you; it is a horse and wagon. 
See, the man drives the horse; he can make it go 
wherever he likes." 

Hans now laughed at his own fright. They came 
to the tavern. The rooms were large, and rather dark 
and smoky. " Are all the houses up here like this 
one? " he asked. 

" No; this is an old tavern," was the reply. " We 
have many kinds of houses. The most beautiful are 
the houses that we build for God. I will let you see 
a church, but we must eat now, or we shall lose our 
train." 

Father Stephen now told the maid to bring them 
some lunch. Hans thought he had never tasted any- 
thing as good as the meat and bread and milk which 
were set before them. 

When they had finished their meal, they went out 
and the priest said that now Hans should see a church. 
Hans went in and prayed in the beautiful little church, 
for the first time in his life. 

Then they hurried on to the station. They waited 
for the train on the platform. Hans asked many 
questions about everything he saw. 



The Miner^s Son. 



m 



Suddenly they heard a loud shriek and a roar. 
Hans looked in fear, and saw a great monster coming 
toward them. It had only one great angry eye, and 
Hans was so afraid that he could hardly breathe. 

He Y\^anted to run away, but he could not move; 
only his heart beat faster and faster. Father Stephen 
looked at him, and said, smiling, " Do not be afraid, 
my boy; I will not let anything hurt you. This is 
the train which will carry us to your grandmother's 
house. See, it is made of iron," he said, leading the 
trembling boy to the puffing, steaming monster. " The 
men inside can make it stop or run, just as they like." 

" Now we must get into one of the cars," said Father 
Stephen. " You are not afraid now, are you?" Hans 
blushed at his fear, and said, " No I will try never to 
be afraid again." 

Soon they were flying through the beautiful country, 
and Hans could hardly speak, because he was so happy 
to see the earth. 

In the afternoon he said, "Light, light, — why, 
Father, there is light all over everything! It is just 
like gold in the air; it must be the sun! " 

" Yes, you are right; it is the sun coming out," said 
the Father. "You must not look at the sun yet. 
Later, when it is going down, you may see it. Your 
eyes might become weak if you look at the light much 
yet." 

Hans drank in the beauty of the sky and the earth, 
with the sunshine over all. It was like fairyland to 
him. 

" Now, when the train stops again, we will get off," 
said Father Stephen. Hans felt his heart beat fast 



174 



Appendix. 



at the thonglit of seeing his own people, who loved 
him because they had loved his mother. 

When they got off the train and went around the 
station-house, they went to see the sunset. In all his 
dreams of beauty Hans had never thought of such 
beauty as this. The sky was gold and pink and 
white, with little golden islands floating near the sun. 
Hans folded his hands as if he were praying; as long 
as he lived he remembered this first sunset. 

"That is the sun as we see it almost every day at 
this time," said the Father. "AVe do not see the 
beauty, because we are so used to it; but we should 
look at it every day. Some day, when you have seen 
the sun go down many, many times, you will hardly 
look at it, I am afraid." 

"No; I shall look at it always," said Hans. "O 
Father, it is like heaven." 

Now they got into a carriage and drove through 
fields and woods, past pleasant farmhouses and 
beautiful streams of water. Hans learned of new 
things on every side, but he could not take his eyes 
off the sunset; when he had watched the last rays lost 
in the darkness, he turned to Father Stephen again. 

"What is that, and that, and that?" he cried, point- 
ing to the sky. 

" Can you guess what they are?" asked the Father. 

" They must be the stars, but how small they are! 
I thought they would be much larger." 

" Many of those tiny stars are great suns, just like 
our sun; but they are so far away, that we see them 
as stars." 

" There is the moon." Hans said this as if the 
moon were an old friend of his. " See how it moves! " 



The Miner^s Son. 



175 



"Yes; that is the moon. Yon are taking your first 
moonlight ride." Slowly and softly the moon rose 
higher and higher. Hans could say nothing. He 
was looking at the river and the woods and the 
fields, with the moonlight over all. 

At last they stopped before a vine-covered cottage 
in the village. A door opened, and a flash of light 
streamed out. Then Father Stephen led the pale boy 
into the home of his grandmother. 

Little Hans was in loving arms. He was happy to 
feel that now he had some one who cared for him, as 
the other children had. There was a dainty feast 
spread in honor of the little son who was found. 
Father Stephen stayed and was happy with them. 

When he went away, Hans held his hand and 
kissed it. The Father stroked his head and said, 
" Hans and I are good friends. Good by, my son; I 
will come to see you again!" 

The beauty which this poor little miner's son loved 
so much never grew old to him. Every day he 
studied the beauty of the earth around him. 

Years passed; he was very happy going to school 
and helping his grandmother at home. Father Ste- 
phen kept his word, and afterwards he sent Hans to 
a school, where he became a great painter. 

Thousands of people stood before his pictures of the 
sunsets and wondered at the beauty of the earth. 
But Hans thought, "Why do they not open their eyes 
and see the beauty for themselves! It is before them 
in the sky and the woods and the sea all the time. I 
can not paint it as beautiful as God has made it!" 



"DOCTOR CHARLES." 



One day Mrs. Blake was sewing a waist for her little 
boy, Dexter. He was so very small and thin for his 
age, that everybody called him Dot. 

Mrs. Blake had been ill for a long time, and stran- 
gers had sewed for the children, while his older brother, 
Charles, had taken care of Dot. 

When Mrs. Blake fitted the waist, she noticed that 
one side of his back was different from the other. She 
looked at the thin little body more closely, and saw, 
for the first time, that the backbone, or spine, was 
very much curved. 

This frightened her, for she knew that if it were not 
cured, he would be a cripple by the time he grew up. 

Going to the door, she blew the horn, which always 
brought Charles home. He was playing baseball with 
some schoolmates, not far away. 

In a few minutes Charles appeared; he was a strong, 
healthy boy, with kind, laughing eyes, and a very red 
face from running. 

" Charles, come in and look at Dot's back! " said 
his mother. 

Charles came up to see. " Did you ever see this 
curve in his back? 0 Charles, if it can't be cured he 
will be a cripple for life! Run for the doctor; we must 
not put it off another hour! " 

Charles had taken care of his little brother ever 
176 



''Doctor Charles:' 



177 



since Dot was a baby, and the thought that he might 
be a cripple for life made him run faster and faster. 

When the doctor had carefully looked his patient 
over, he said, as he shook his head, ''It is bad; but 
the boy is young, and there is hope that he may yet 
be cured." 

" What he needs is, not medicine, but rubbing, fresh f 
air, and good food. Every day, for two hours, he 
must be rubbed with a liniment which I shall leave." 

Charles had remained in the room to hear what the 
doctor would say. He knew that he was the only one 
who could do the rubbing. His mother was not strong, 
and his father was away on business most of the time. 

" Doctor, how do you want him rubbed?" he asked. 
" I want you to show me how, because mother is not 
strong enough, and father is not at home much." 

" Very well," said the doctor; "but do you think 
you will feel like doing it two hours every day? It 
may be months before he is well. I think your father 
had better hire some one to do it; because there is 
nothing else that will cure him." 

Charles knew that his father could not well afford 
to pay any one else, so he said, " I can do it, doctor, I 
know! See my arms; I've got fine muscle!" and 
Charles rolled up his sleeve to prove what he said. 

There was something in the boy's face that made 
the doctor trust him. 

" Very well, I will show you how to do it, Charles," 
he said. " Roll up your sleeves and go to work." 

Then he showed Charles just how to rub the soft 
muscles to make them stronger. " You see, he has 
been in bed so much," the doctor explained, " that all 



178 



Appendix. 



the muscles of the hack are not strong enough to hold 
up the spine, and that makes it curve." 

Charles learned how to do it very quickly, and as 
his strong hrown hands moved over the white skin so 
firmly, yet tenderly, the doctor said, " You are going 
to do very well, Charles, unless you tire of it; but, 
remember, you are giving him the only thing he needs 
to get well." 

Day by day and month by month, Charles gave 
Dot " his medicine," as he called it, — once before Dot 
was up in the morning, and again when he was in bed 
for the night. 

The doctor told Charles just what outdoor exercise 
he wanted Dot to have. "Teach him to run and jump 
and play ball," he said. "Of course you must never 
let him get very tired." 

" Charles is so careful with Dot, doctor," said their 
mother, " I know you can trust him!" 

When Mr. Blake came home, and heard about Dot's 
trouble, he was as much frightened as his wife had 
been. He often watched Charles as he did the rub- 
bing, and offered to do it whenever he was at home; 
but Charles would not agree to this. His father was 
glad to see him so faithful, and called him " Doctor 
Charles." 

As time went on, the doctor looked more and more 
pleased when he came to look at his patient. 

Almost a year after his first visit, he smiled and 
said to Charles, "You have just about cured him; 
and I must say that I have never seen it done better 
and more faithfully in the best hospitals." But he 
told Charles to keep up the rubbing two or three times 
a week for some time yet. 



"Doctor Charles.'' 



179 



The two brothers had always been fond of each 
other; but now Dot seemed to feel how much his 
great big brother had done for him, and he clung to 
him very tenderly; while Charles felt that there could 
not be a dearer little fellow in the world than Dot. 

One would hardly have known Dot a year later. 
He was strong and brown, and captain of a baseball 
team! Yes, it seems queer, but it was true. They 
were called the " Baby Nine of Cedar Flats." 

When Charles sat down to breakfast on the morn- 
ing of his fourteenth birthday, he found a beautiful 
silver watch near his plate. It was an open-faced 
watch, and on the back was a baseball and bat, and 
around in a circle these words, " To my dear brother 
Charles, from Dot." 



CONSIDERATION. 



When we do some one else a favor, we are kind to 
him; but when we do this kindness in such a way as 
not to hurt his feehngs, then we show consideration. 

Some people are very kind at heart, but when they 
try to help others, they are thoughtless and often 
hurt their feelings. 

Sarah Newman was the daughter of a very rich 
man. She had a beautiful home and everything which 
wealth could give her; but she was so kind-hearted 
that everybody liked her. 

Her best friend was Lily Morton, who lived in a 
tiny house near Sarah's home. 

Lily's mother was a widow with a large family of 
children. She found it very hard to give them every- 
thing they needed. 

Mrs. Newman and her daughter Sarah helped the 
family in every way they could, by giving them food 
and clothing. It seemed to Sarah that she had no 
right to eat her good food, unless she knew that Lily 
had something good too. 

So Lily brought a basket with well-cooked food 
from their kind neighbors very often, and tliis was a 
welcome help to her tired mother. 

One day Alice Hart came to see Sarah, when Lily 
and she were playing in the garden. They played for 
an hour very merrily, but when the clock struck five, 
Lily said, " I must go home now. Good by, girls." 

180 



Consideration. 



181 



"Wait a moment," cried Sarah; "we have saved up 
a lot of things for you." 

Lily took the basket and the bundle of clothes, and 
thanked her friend for them. 

When she had gone, Alice said, "0, does Lily take 
things from you? I did n't know she was so poor. 
She is the smartest girl in our class, and I never 
thought she was poor." 

Sarah was sorry that Alice knew of the matter, for 
she felt that she might speak of it to the girls in 
school. She tried to make Alice promise not to speak 
of it, but next day all the girls in school knew that 
Lily took food and clothing from Sarah's mother. 

Lily was taunted again and again by the thought- 
less girls. 

She was glad when school was out, and she ran 
home to her mother, who found it very hard to com- 
fort her. 

" What shall I do about it, mamma? " asked Sarah 
with tears in her eyes, when she had told her mother 
all about it. 

"I was afraid that Alice might speak of it. You 
should not have given Lily those things while Alice 
was there. We might have carried them over, later. 
You see, my dear, you meant to be kind to Lily, but 
you did not think that it would be so much pleasanter 
for her not to have any one know of it." 

" We will go over and see Mrs. Morton and Lily," 
said Mrs. Newman, "and do what we can to let them 
feel that we are their friends." 

When Mrs. Newman and Sarah entered the little 
cottage where Lily lived, she came to meet them smil- 
ing, but her eyes were still red. 



182 



Appendix. 



Mrs. Newman and Sarah were so kind, and so sorry 
for what had happened, that the two girls parted 
better friends than ever. Sarah never forgot to think 
of the feelings of others. 

When she was a woman, she helped many thou- 
sands of poor people, but she never forgot that to help 
others is to be kind to them; but to help them so that 
it v/ill not hurt their feelings is to be considerate. 



KINDNESS. 



Why do we all like to meet kind people? 

John Rogers is a boy whose face is freckled and 
whose clothes are poor; but he smiles and says " Good 
evening " so pleasantly when he meets you on the 
street, that you feel better for having seen him. 

Rose Wilcox is the daughter of the rich banker who 
lives in the great house on the corner; but she is so 
truly kind to every one, no matter if they are rich or 
poor, that everybody likes her. 

But here is Ralph Stone; his cross, selfish face 
makes us feel that we had rather not meet him. One 
day his teacher spoke to Ralph about kindness, 

" What is the use of being kind? " said Ralph. " If 
I lend a boy a pencil, he may lose it, or at least he 
will use the point, so that I shall have to sharpen it. 
If I don't give him my pencil, I have less trouble. 

" If I give some of my apples away, I have less for 
myself. I don't see any use in being kind. I don't 
borrow or take anything from the other children, so 
why should I give mine away? " 

" You didn't even help George Smith with his lesson 
at recess when he asked you," said hi& teacher. " He 
is a new boy, and does not know you. No one who 
knows you would think of asking you for a kindness. 
It would have cost you nothing to have helped George." 

183 



184 



Appendix. 



" Well, I got the lesson myself without any help, so 
I thought he could do the same"; but Ralph looked a 
little ashamed of himself when he said this. 

So you mean never to give or to receive kindness, 
do you? " said Miss Wilbur. 

" Yes, that is it; I don't see any use in it," Ralph 
answered. 

" What about the kindness you have already re- 
ceived? " she asked. 

" O, that isn't so much! " said Ralph. 

" Is not the kindness of your mother and father 
much? " 

" 0, well, they are my parents, and they have to do 
it," said Ralph. 

''What about your schoolmates? "asked Miss Wilbur. 

" They are not kind to me," was the answer. 

"No; as a rule, they do not notice you very much. 
You are always so unkind, that they do not like you. 
But one or two of them have been very kind to you. 
Last winter, when you were lying on the ice with a 
badly sprained ankle, John and Walter Rogers carried 
you through the darkness until you were safe in the 
house of a friend. 

" If they had left you, think what might have hap- 
pened! Even if they had gone for help, which would 
have been much easier for them, you might have 
died in the bitter cold before help came. 

" But these boys did the best thing for you, though 
it was hard for them. They carried you almost a 
mile. Have you ever done anything to repay that 
kindness? " 

" Well, father offered to pay them, but they would 
not take any money," said Ralph. 



Kindness. 



185 



" That was right; they may be poor, but they do 
not have kindness for sale," said Miss Wilbur. " No, 
Ralph, we cannot do without kindness in the world. 
Think what life would be if people were not kind to 
each other! Even animals are kind to each other. 

I once knew a canary-bird much more willing to 
help others than you are. This bird's name was Pete, 
and he belonged to my little sister Mary. 

"Pete was so tame that be was allowed to fly in and 
out as he pleased. He always came when Mary called 
him to go to sleep in the evening. But one evening 
Pete did not come. She went into the garden and 
called again. Pretty soon he came flying toward her, 
but he did not let her catch him as usual, but flew a 
short distance away. She followed him, but he flew 
on and on, to the farthest corner of the garden. There 
on the grass lay a bluebird with a broken wing. Pete 
knew that Mary would help him, and this was his 
way of showing her where the wounded bird was." 

" 0, well, anything like that," said Ralph. " I 
would not let a boy with a broken leg or a sprained 
ankle lie and freeze to death! " 

" But you would not care to help carry him; you 
would go to the next house and tell the people about 
it, and let them do the work. 

" But, Ralph, I am speaking to you about this be- 
cause I believe you never thought of being kind. 
Have you ever done a kindness to any one? " 

"I let Will Hunter have my knife," said Ralph. 

" Yes, but what did he give you for the use of it? " 
Ralph blushed and said nothing. " You made a 
sharp bargain with Will. He had to promise to make 



186 



Appendix. 



you two of his best willow whistles for the use of your 
knife one afternoon." 

"How do you know? Did Will tell?" asked Ralph, 
in surprise. 

" No, he told me nothing, but I heard it. Now, 
Ralph, the children are about to begin their noon 
play. Go out among them and try to see the kind- 
ness of which I speak. This evening I hope you will 
have some kind deed to tell me about." 

Ralph went out and looked on while the boys 
played. He watched to see if there was so much kind- 
ness as Miss Wilbur had claimed. 

The boys were playing a game with their tops. . 

George Smith, the new boy, stood near, and looked 
as if he wished to play. 

Walter Rogers called to him, "Come on, George, 
have you got a top?" George shook his head. " You 
can spin mine." 

Then he saw Ralph take his top from his pocket; he 
looked as if he wished to offer it, yet did not know 
how. 

Walter turned to Ralph, " Do you want to play, 
Ralph?" he asked. 

"No, but George may use my top if he wants to," 
he said. 

But George did not care to take it, he had been so 
unkindly treated before. "Just take it, George," said 
Ralph, as if he really wished to lend it; "I '11 watch 
you play." 

George took the top and proved to be a good player. 
Ralph enjoyed the game. He was surprised to see 
how kind they were about lending each other top- 



5 



Kindness. 



187 



strings and tops. They did little kind acts all the 
time, yet they did not seem to think about it. 

Some other boys were playing horse, and a little 
fellow, who stood in the way of a prancing team, was 
pushed down and began to cry. John Rogers, who 
was cutting something from paper near-by, picked 
him up. He carefully brushed the dust from his 
clothes, but the little boy cried on. 

Then John took a paper cow which he had been 
cutting and gave it to the little boy. He laughed 
when he saw what it was, and ran away happy. 

That evening after school Miss Wilbur said to 
Ralph, " Did you see any kindness among the boys at 
noon? " 

Ralph told her what he had seen. "Have you 
learned anything about kindness?" she asked. 

"I guess it's a pretty good thing," said Ralph, 
blushing. 

''I think so too," said Miss Wilbur. "Your life 
will be much happier if you do all the kindness you 
can as you go along. Good night, Ralph." 

" Good night. Miss Wilbur," and Ralph smiled so 
pleasantly that he looked like another boy. 



FRANK'S LESSON. 



One summer Frank went to visit his uncle and aunt, 
who lived in a pleasant village not far from his home. 
They were glad to have him come, as they had no 
children of their own, and knew Frank to be a pleas- 
ant and helpful boy. 

One day his uncle came home with a pair of beauti- 
ful goats. " Frank," he said, " these goats will pull a 
cart. You might make a new box for that cart out in 
the workshop, and when I get a harness you will have 
a fine turnout." 

Frank was much pleased, and he went to the work- 
shop to see what he could do with the cart. His father 
was a carpenter; so Frank had learned to use tools 
very nicely. 

He went to work planing and sawing, but when he 
looked for nails to put his cart together, he found only 
heavy iron ones in his uncle's nail-box. 

" Frank," said his aunt, just then coming into the 
workshop, " will you go down to the store for me? I 
am very busy." 

Frank started on his errand at once. On his return, 
he passed a house which was being built near his 
uncle's home. As it was late, the workmen had gone 
home. 

Near the walk, Frank saw a slender steel nail, — just 
such a one as he needed for his cart, — and he picked 
it up. Then he noticed several nail-kegs under the 

188 



FranJc^s Lesson. 



189 



porch. He went up and found them full of just the 
kind of nails he wanted. He had nothing but his hat, 
so he took that off and put several handfuls of nails 
into it. Then he ran home. 

Frank had hoped to go into the workshop to empty 
his hat before his aunt saw him, but she was waiting 
for him on the porch as he came up. 

" Why, Frank, what is in your hat? " she asked as 
she took the bundles from him. 

" 0, it's just something I found," said Frank. 

But she was not to be put off in that way. " What 
is it, Frank? I must see if 

Then he showed her the shining nails. 

" Where did you get them? " 

"0, down the street." 

" Frank," said his aunt, " you never tell a lie; I 
know that you are truthful. Now^ tell me where you 
got them." So Frank told his aunt all about them. 
Frank," she said, when she had heard the story, 
why did you not tell us that you needed other nails? " 

"I did not hke to. Uncle had just bought me the 
goats and the harness." 

" Well, of course we shall go down and put the nails 
back just where you found them. We cannot sleep in 
the house with anything that has been stolen! Do 
you know, Frank, that the people here leave every- 
thing open? You are the first person who has stolen 
anything here for years! " 

"Why, Aunt Martha! I did not steal them! I only 
just took a few, and there were kegs and kegs of them 
standing open! " 

" Really, Frank, it seems meaner to me to take a 



190 



Appendix. 



thing when people trust you and do not lock it up, 
than if they do not trust you." Frank did not answer. 

" Very well, if you do not want to go down to return 
them now with me, we will wait until your uncle 
comes home. He is a lawyer, and will know what 
had best be done." 

Frank was still silent. His uncle had been so kind 
to him, and always treated him as if he were almost a 
man. He was afraid to face him. It had seemed such 
a little thing to do when he took the nails. He had not 
called it stealing, but only " taking." Now he saw 
his deed, which had not grown any worse, in a differ- 
ent light. 

His aunt took the hat and put it down on the porch. 

" We will not take them in, Frank," she said; " we 
will leave them here. I should be sorry to think that 
a stolen thing had ever entered the house where your 
uncle and I Hve. Your uncle is a man who is 
trusted with thousands of dollars. He has a chance 
to steal, every day, again and again. But do you 
think he would do so, just because he has the chance? 

It is true that your uncle has never made as much 
money as some others, but the whole country knows 
him to be a man who can be trusted in great things 
and in small, and that is more than much money. 
His name is Abraham, you know, and they call him 
'Honest Abe,' just as they did Abraham Lincoln. I 
am proud of him." 

" Aunt Martha, if you will go with me, I will take 
those back now, quick, before Uncle Abe gets home." 
Frank could hardly wait for his aunt to get a wrap. 

They met no one on the street. Aunt Martha 



Franks Lesson. 



191 



walked around the new house and watched Frank put 
the nails back. They did not speak. When they 
turned to go home, the dog in the next yard barked. 
Frank started. A door was opened, and the man in 
the door saw two dark figures walking away. 

" Hello! " he called in surprise. " Who 's that? " 

" It is Mrs. King," was the quiet answer. 

" Oh, ah! excuse me, Mrs. King. I did not know 
but it was some one doing mischief. Good night, 
Mrs. King. Can you see ? " 

0 yes, thank you, Mr. Williams," she said, and 
the door was closed. Then Aunt Martha took Frank's 
hand in hers and they walked towards home. 

''Aunt Martha," said Frank, half choking; ''I 
never really knew before what stealing was, and I '11 
never do it again. I know it now; but please don't 
tell Uncle Abe; please don't, Aunt Martha! We boys 
always called it taking, but I '11 never call it that 
again." 

" Frank, I shall never tell him. It is not mine to 
tell, now that you have returned the nails. But if you 
really feel that you will never do such a thing again, 
why not tell him yourself? 

We often speak of lessons in doing right that we 
learned when we were children — why not tell him of 
this lesson? Don't you think it would be more manly 
to tell him? He is so kind, and he will understand 
how you did not really know. I do not like to have 
this secret between us, you see." 

" Let me think about it first, Aunt Martha, please," 
Frank pleaded. 

" Of course you shall," she answered kindly; "but 



192 



Appendix, 



remember that it is hard to sleep on a thing like this. 
Better get rid of it as soon as you can." 

They reached home just in time. Uncle Abe came 
in a little later. He was in gay spirits, and brought 
the little harness. After dinner Mrs. King went out 
to see a neighbor, and when she returned she could 
see by Frank's happy face that he had told his uncle 
all about it. 

They spent a very pleasant evening together, and 
Frank was glad that his uncle had not changed tow- 
ard him, but treated him as much like a man as 
ever. 



HOW A GLACIER ANSWERED A 
QUESTION, 

For many years the question as to whether glaciers 
moved faster near the banks, or midway between 
them, was an open one among scientists. 

A young man, Louis Agassiz, who lived in Switzer- 
land, where many glaciers are moving slowly down 
the mountain sides, determined to find out how these 
great rivers of ice move. 

Accordingly, he pitched his tent upon a glacier, pre- 
pared to stay all summer. Near his tent he drove a 
row of stout pegs in a straight line across the stream, 
and watched them carefully from month to month, 
while he spent his days in the mountains, studying 
the rocks and plants and animals there. , 

At the end of several months, the pegs were no 
longer in a straight line, but formed a bow, curving 
dowQYv^ard. 

Agassiz had said to the glacier, " My friend, please 
tell me where you move faster, — near the bank, or in 
midstream? " 

The glacier answered distinctly, " I move faster in 
midstream,'* 

193 



MISCELLANEOUS PROVERBS. 



1. Better be alone than in bad company. 

2. A thousand probabilities will not make one truth. 

3. By learning to obey, you will know how to com- 
mand. 

4. Charity should begin at home, but not end there. 

5. Do good with what thou hast, or it will do thee 
no good. 

6. Each day is a new life; regard it, therefore, as an 
epitome of the whole. 

7. There is no worse robber than a bad book. 

8. Use soft words and hard arguments. 

9. To advise and take advice is the duty of true 
friendship. 

10. Want of punctuality is a kind of falsehood. 

11. Wherever there is flattery, there is sure to be a 
fool. 

12. A bad workman quarrels with his tools. 

13. Be slow to promise, but quick to perform. 

14. Keep good company, and be one of the number. 

15. First deserve and then desire. 

16. He that reckons without his host must reckon 
again. 

17. He liveth long who liveth well. 

18. Many go out for wool and come home shorn. 

19. Live not to eat, but eat to live. 

20. Never speak to deceive, nor listen to betray. 

21. The sting of a reproach is the truth of it. 

194 



Miscellaneous Proverbs. 



195 



22. The sin, not the punishment, makes the shame. 

23. Entertain no thoughts which you would blush 
at in words. 

24. He who will not be ruled by the rudder must 
be ruled by the rock. 

25. He who shows his passion tells his enemy where 
to hit him. 

26. He who has good health is young. 

27. Never throw stones if you live in a glass house. 

28. Few wants make happy hearts. 

29. Make hay while the sun shines. 

30. While you see the faults in others, do not judge 
them. 

31. What a man bears willingly, is lightly borne. 



QUOTATIONS. 



1. No PAST is dead to \is, but only sleeping. — 

Hunt. 

2. Our ideals are our better selves. — Alcott 

3. The problem of life is to make the ideal real. — 
Parkhurst, 

4. Happiness is not the end of life; character is. — 
Beecher. 

5. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most 
liveSj who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. 
— Bailey. 

6. It is only when one is thoroughly true that there 
can be purity and freedom. — Auerbach. 

7. We owe to man higher Guccors than food and fire. 
We owe to man, man. — Eliot. 

8. It is not a question of what a man has acquired, 
but of what he is, and what he can do. — Holland. 

9. A fault which humbles a man is of more use to 
him than a good action which puffs him up with 
pride. — Thomas Wilson, 

10. Good humor may be said to be one of the very 
best articles of dress that one can possible wear in 
society. — Thackeray. 

11. Man's liberty ends, and it ought to end, when 
that liberty becomes the curse of his neighbors. — 
Farrar. 

12. Trouble teaches man what there is in man- 
hood. — Beecher. 

196 



Quotations. 



197 



13. Higher than the perfect song 

For which love longeth, 
Is the tender fear of wrong 
That never wrongeth. — B. Taylor, 

14. Something the heart must have to cherish, 

Must love, and joy, and sorrow learn. 
Something with passion clasp or perish; 
And in itself to ashes burn. — Longfellow. 

16. Our duty is to be useful, not according to our 
desire, but according to our power. — AmieL 

16. Want of care does us more damage than want 
of knowledge. — Franklin. 

17. The greatest friend of Truth is Time; her 
greatest enemy is prejudice; and her constant com- 
panion is humility. — Colton. 

18. To love truth for truth's sake is the principal 
part of human perfection, and the seed-plant of all 
other virtues. — Locke. 

19. I do not know what I may appear to the world, 
but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy 
playing on the sea-shore and diverting myself in now 
and then finding a smoother pebble, or a prettier shell 
than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of Truth lay all 
undiscovered before me. — Newton. 

20. Faith is among men what gravity is among 
planets and suns; it keeps them in their orbits. — 
Parkhurst. 

21. The faith which you keep must be a faith that 
demands obedience, and you can keep it only by obey- 
ing it. — Phillips Brooks, 



198 



Appendix, 



22. The truth you speak does lack some gentleness, 
and time to speak it in; you rub the sore when you 
should bring the plaster. — Shakespeare. 

23. The man that 's resolute and just, 
Firm to his principles and trust, 

Nor hopes nor fears can blind. — Walsh. 

24. Errors like straws upon the surface flow; 

He who would search for pearls must dive below. 

— Dry den. 

25. Our patience will achieve more than our force. 
— Burke. 

26. Only people who possess firmness, possess true 
gentleness. — Rochefoucauld. 

27. Patience is a necessary ingredient of genius. — 
Disraeli. 

28. Patience is the strongest of strong drinks, for it 
kills the giant Despair. — Jerrold. 

29. Virtue will catch, as well as vice, by contact. — 
Burke. 

30. Virtue, when it is a matter of expediency and 
calculation, is the virtue of vice. — Joubert. 

31. Without virtue and without integrity, the finest 
talents and the most brilliant accomplishments can 
never gain the respect and esteem of the truly valu- 
able part of mankind. — Washington. 

32. It is through the mysterious human relation- 
ships; through the love and tenderness and purity of 
mothers, sisters, and wives; through the strength and 
courage and wisdom of brothers, fathers, and friends, — 
that we can come to the knowledge of Him in whom 
alone the love and the tenderness, and the purity, 



Quotations. 



199 



and the strength, and the courage, and the wisdom 
dwell forever and in perfect fullness. — Thomas Hughes. 

33. What sculpture is to a block of marble, educa- 
tion is to a human soul. — Addison. 

34. The secret of education lies in respecting the 
pupil. — Emerson. 

35. The worst education which teaches self-denial, 
is better than the best which teaches everything else, 
but not that. — /. Sterling. 

36. A little management may often evade resistance, 
which a vast force might vainly strive to overcome. 
— Anonymous. 

37. To know how to suggest is the great art of 
teaching. To attain it, we must be able to guess 
what will interest. We must learn to read the childish 
soul as we might a piece of music. — Author. 



The Western Series of Readers 

EDITED BY HARR WAQNER 

Designed Elspecially for Supplementary Work in 

HISTORY AND NATURE STUDY 

In Our Public Schools 

All Fully and Beautifully Illustrated. Each Volume Contains from 
J^ighteen to Twenty-Six Full-Page Pictures. 



EXTENSIVELY ADOPTED AND USED IN THE SCHOOLS OF THE PACIFIC COAST 



VOL. I 

PACIFIC HISTORY STORIES 

By HARR WAGNER 

Fop Fourth and Fifth Grades 

During the short time that this book has been on the market its 
sale has been phenomenal. It is pronounced, by all of our leading 
educators, to be excellently adapted to the work for which it was 
intended— a supplementary reader in history study in the Fourth 
and Fifth Grades. Fully two-thirds of the counties in California 
have this book on their supplementary and library list. 



VOL. il 

PACIFIC NATURE STORIES 

By HARR WAGNER and DAVID S. JORDAN and others 

For Fourth and Fifth Grades 

A companion volume to the above. It contains some eighteen most 
interesting and instructive sketches of our Western animal and 
vegetable life, all told in a delightfully flowing style and written by 
the greatest educators of the West. As a reading book in nature 
study it cannot be excelled. 



VOL. Ill 

NATURE STORIES OF THE NORTHWEST 

By HERBERT BASHFORD 

State I,ibrarian of Washington 

For Sixth and Seventh Grades 

This book covers a more extended field than Volume II, and is not 
strictly confined to the Northwest. Among the interesting stories 
will be found those of The Black Bear, The Kinp:fisher, The Clam, 
The Meadowlark, The Seals, etc., all of which are ot" interest to any 
pupil in the West. The illustrations are works of art and true to 
nature. 



VOL. IV 

TALES OF DISCOVERY ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 

By MARGARET GRAHAM HOOD 

Fop ThlFd and Fourth Grades 

The Tale of History could not be more charmingly told than it is in 
this volume, which is intended for the lower grades. A Third or 
Fourth Grade pupil will read it easily, and with interest. Its eight 
chapters are devoted to the early history of our great Western 
empire, and tell of characters and events, but little touched upon by 
the general school history. The child here acquires a taste that 
leads him to further research. 



VOL. V 

TALES OF OUR NEW POSSESSIONS, THE PHILIPPINES 

Written by R. VAN BERGEN 

A Thirty- Year resident of the Orient 
Author of "Story of Japan," Etc. 

Illustrated by P. N. BOERINGER 

War Artist Correspondent at Manila 
for San Francisco Papers 

For the Sixth, Seventh and Eighth Grades 

A timely book for the young. We employed to write this volume, 
a man whose thirty-year residence in the Orient made him 
thoroughly familiar with the i)eople and their customs. Its thirty- 
eight chapters, all richly illustrated by the best artist we could secure, 
will give the pupil an excellent idea of our new country— 
a knowledge which will prove of great financial value to him. 



VOL. VI 

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By HAROLD W. FAIRBANKS, Ph. D. 

Illustrated by MART H. WELL HAN 

With 27 Full Page Illustrations, An Intensely In- 
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For the Sixth and Seventh Grades 

Can the study of Geology be made interesting to the young? It 
certainly can when written in the style of this book. It contains 
some thirty-eight chapters, every one laden with knowledge but all 
reading like a story book. The chapters on The Yosetnite Valley, 
The San Francisco Bay and The Colorado River in themselves alone 
warrant the purchase of the book. 



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Percy or the Four Inseparables, by M. l,ee 1 00 

Personal Impressions of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado 1 50 

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DEC 12 1900 



